


There's Something About You (Takes My Blues Away)

by noos



Series: TSAY - Modern AU Verse [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Modern AU, Multi, That is all, This Was Supposed To Be A One Shot, because basically everyone and their mum makes an appearance, but main ship is gendrya, expect wish fulfillment and trope galore, it turned into a monster, might've forgotten some ships and characters, oh well, the rest are mentioned throughout, theon/sansa and meera/robb get background storylines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-02 04:04:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19433560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noos/pseuds/noos
Summary: She ran into Hot Pie and he had… a really hot guy with him? Yes. A very hot guy who was also a little stupid and kind of annoyingly stubborn, but his blue eyes and tattoos kind of did it for her, especially the one peaking from under his collar and—Oh. Hot Pie’s hot friend.She looks down at the guy next to her.Gendry Waters,she remembers vaguely.orArya sleeps with a cute guy, fully intent on never seeing him again. He moves in next door - or two floors up - four months later and okay, she's in way over her head.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I've been working on this for the better part of a month and I'm really excited to finally be able to post. It was supposed to be a one shot, 10k at most. It spiralled into a 40k monster because I have zero self-control.  
> The good news is that the entire story is written, I just need to clean it up and adjust some things, so updates will be fairly quick. I really hope you guys like it. 
> 
>   
> A few things;
> 
> 1\. I tried to make as much sense of the timeline/locations as I could, but if something seems particularly off, don't be scared to mention it - writing over a long period of time with other things on your mind means continuity is sometimes hard to nail 100%. 
> 
> 2\. Missandei isn't in this a whole lot but she is a fair amount and I feel the need to point out that her whole look is inspired by Nathalie Emmanuel bc that woman's a goddess and her septum ring is the reason I exist.
> 
> 3\. Annie, thank you for your encouragements and neverending support. Ily.
> 
> 4\. Title from Unicron Loev by Raleigh Ritchie.
> 
> 5\. English is unfortunately still not my first language.
> 
> 5\. I hope you guys have as much fun reading as I did writing this. <3

When Arya wakes up that morning with her arms wrapped tightly around someone’s waist, it takes her a few minutes to find her bearings. 

See, she was never that big on spooning or cuddling, and yet here she was, snuggled up and warm and very much _naked_ , gripping some dude’s rather impressive waist. His arm lies heavy yet surprisingly comforting across her stomach and his cheek rests lightly against her shoulder as their legs tangle together. 

She doesn’t recognize the room she’s in when she looks around, nor can she really remember how she got there in the first place. 

She sits up straight and takes a deep breath to clear her mind and try to figure out exactly how she ended up here. The guy’s arm falls to rest on her thighs, his face now pressed against her naked hip. The way his lips brush against her side sparks something in her, memories of the night before slowly coming back. 

She‘d gone to a party with Jon and Brienne. Unfortunately, Jon had disappeared as soon as they got there and then Brienne got busy wrestling some guy with golden hair and the most arrogant smirk on his face-- Wait, that _can’t_ be right, can it?

It sounds kind of surreal but she’s pretty sure it did happen. And since she didn’t really know anyone at the party, she’d been all set on bailing. Okay, so maybe she knew Renly and Loras, but she couldn’t find either of them, even though it was _their_ party. Point is, she was ready fuck off from the party but then she didn’t because… Hot Pie. 

_Right_. 

She ran into Hot Pie and he had… a really hot guy with him? Yes. He absolutely did. A very hot guy who was also a little stupid and kind of annoyingly stubborn, but his blue eyes and tattoos kind of did it for her, especially the one peeking from under his collar and—

_Oh. Hot Pie’s hot friend._

She looks down at the guy next to her. 

_Gendry Waters,_ she remembers vaguely. 

She can kind of see the geometric stag inked on his collarbone from her vantage point. He’s got a few other tattoos peppered across his body and she kind of wants to run her fingers over them, especially that little wolf on his forearm, but she _doesn’t even really know this dude._

She groans as she shakes her head to clear it. 

She winces when her temples start throbbing almost immediately.

_That was a bloody bad idea._

She finally untangles herself for the guy’s grip, careful not to disturb him too much as she gets out of bed. She doesn’t want to wake him up and make things even more awkward.

She finds her panties discarded on the floor and slips into them before pulling on her jeans, cursing silently when her foot gets repeatedly caught in the rips. She nearly tumbles down no less than four times. She barely buckles her pants before she throws on the first shirt she finds on the floor. It’s definitely not the one she was wearing when she got here and seeing as it’s three sizes too big, absolutely not hers. 

She looks around but realizes she can’t actually locate her own top so whatever, this’ll do. She does find her bra though, and thank fuck, really, because it’s black and lace and hugs her tits just right and she was not willing to part with it. She stuffs it into her bag haphazardly - she finds that discarded on the floor as well - and checks for her keys and phone before she picks up her shoes and turns to look at the bed one last time.

_He’s cute_ , she thinks.

Too bad she’s never going to see him again. 

The thing is, between Jaqen and Freya, Braavos had well and truly maxed her out on shit relationships, to the point where she wasn’t really sure she’d ever want to be in one ever again. All she wanted was some fun and a good shag, which she got last night. Twice, in fact. Three times, if she counts the quick fumble they had in the bathroom before they left Renly’s party. And considering she pretty much came apart with three fingers inside of her, it fucking counts. 

_So long, Gendry. May we never meet again._

She shakes her head and laughs even as she winces in pain again, amused at how extra she’s being. She tiptoes out of his messy apartment, only slipping on her boots once she’s in the hallway. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya’s eyes widen when she spots him. Judging by the way he halts and the way his eyebrows push together, he’s just as confused to see her.
> 
> His hair’s a little shorter than she remembers but just as dark, and his blue eyes stare at her with the same intensity they did that night, his pink lips hanging open in shock.
> 
> _Fuck._

“Are you sure about this?”

Arya’s kind of impressed when Sansa manages to stop and glare at her even as she’s carrying a box that’s approximately three times her size.

“Arya, I love you, but if you ask me that one more time, I am going to punch you.” Sansa’s scowl deepens which only makes Arya snort loudly. Sansa huffs. “Shut up,” she warns before Arya can say anything. “Just because you’re a certified self-defence instructor slash boxer slash archer slash whatever-else-ninja-shite-you-get-up-to, doesn’t mean I can’t actually punch you. You’re the one who taught me how to, so you definitely know I’ve got the stomach for it. Besides, this particular line of questioning is getting really fucking old really fucking fast.”

Arya swallows thickly, her brows creasing hesitantly.

“It’s just that with Bran finally moving out of the flat, I thought maybe you’d rather have the whole place to you and your boyfriend.”

Truth is, she’s quite looking forward to living with Sansa.

She and her older sister didn’t always get along, especially not when they lived in Winterfell. They didn’t have that many things in common and while she always admired Sansa, Arya just didn’t know how to talk to her when she was younger. At least never without leaving them both annoyed, upset, frustrated or all of the above.

Unfortunately, there’s nothing quite like losing one of the most important people in your life to give you some perspective, so when Cat died, they grew closer, even though they still had trouble putting their differences aside entirely.

It was the whole Joffrey ordeal that really brought them together. Arya hates that it took her finding out that absolute dickstain was actually abusing her sister for it to happen. She had all but threatened to kill Joffrey, giving Sansa the push she needed to leave him. She’d dragged her to self-defence class shortly after, vowing to never let her sister go through something like that ever again.

Even when Arya left home, Sansa was perennially on her mind. And since she’s come back to Westeros, they’ve been near inseparable.

“Theon and I like having people around,” Sansa tells her as she piles up the box on top of another one next to the bed. “Besides, we’re still not entirely ready to live on our own. So if it’s not you, it’s gonna be someone else, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d be much happier living with my sister.”

Arya smiles, Sansa’s words leaving her all warm and fuzzy. Not that she’d tell her that.

Theon walks into the room just then. “Can’t believe we have to do this all over again in three weeks,” he groans from behind the huge box he’s holding.

Sansa rolls her eyes affectionately.

If someone had told Arya when she was ten that Theon Greyjoy would be Sansa’s epic love story, she would’ve laughed in their face and called them mad as the old king they read about in history class.

The first time Robb brought Theon home, Arya was just five. She didn’t think much of it. Robb brought a lot of people home, most of whom stuck around for only a week or two before she’d never see them again. But Theon kept coming back for weeks, and then months, and then years. And then Robb’s friend became Jon’s friend and Jon’s friend became a family friend and before she knew it, Arya was 14 and punching that psycho Euron for talking shit about his cousin. About _her_ friend. Theon has been surprised but touched, teasing her about how that didn’t mean they liked each other now, and she had wholeheartedly agreed.

And then, sometime while Arya was away from home, Theon turned into her sister’s boyfriend.

It sounded so weird, at first, Arya not having been there to see it happen. But the first thing she noticed when got back was how happy Theon made Sansa and how he looked at her in a way that made even someone as jaded as Arya believe in some semblance of love. And that’s all she needed to know, really. That her sister was safe and happy.

She walks out to grab one of the boxes by the doorway and waddles her way back into the room. “What’s happening in three weeks?”

“Gendry’s moving in,” Sansa replies. “Two floors up.”

Arya’s steps falter at the name and she nearly falls flat on her face. Theon catches her in time, smiling quizzically as he helps her straighten up.

“Careful,” he mumbles, ruffling her hair as he passes her by.

Arya nods dumbly at him, depositing the box on the floor.

It’s not a very common name, she knows, but what are the odds of him being the same Gendry she met all those months before? And why is she getting so flustered at the mere thought that it could be him? They had one night together and that was that. That was how she wanted it to be.

She clears her throat, smoothing out her shirt and trying to avoid Sansa’s eyes.

She goes for her most casual tone. “Gendry?”

She doesn’t sound very casual at all.

“Baratheon,” Sansa says absently, folding up some of Arya’s shirts and leaving them on the bed. A mixture of relief and disappointment washes over Arya, confusing her even more. Sansa looks her over, her eyes widening in sudden realization. “I keep forgetting that you two haven’t actually met yet,” she tells her. “He’s one of my best friends.”

“Then how come I’ve never met this Gendry Baratheon?” Arya demands, trying to push her perplexing thoughts to the back of her mind.

She’s frustrated by the mere fact that her feelings are all over the place right now because they shouldn’t be. It’s not him and she doesn’t have to see him again and it’s exactly how she wants it.

“Because we met in King’s Landing while you pissed off to the other side of the world.” Sansa’s words are sharper than her tone suggests, but Arya winces anyway. She deserves that. “We went to KLU at the same time,” Sansa adds. “And then we found out he knew Theon because their sisters dated for a few years. Can I borrow this sometime?” she asks suddenly, holding up a grey tattered shirt. Arya nods, trying to keep up with her sister’s zigzagging thoughts. “Anyway, he was living on the other side of town and was looking for somewhere closer to this part of Storm’s End so it was kinda perfect when Theon found him a place two floors up.” She pauses, holding up a pair of black distressed shorts against her hips and checking her reflection in the mirror. “I’m borrowing these too,” she declares. “You’re gonna love him, I’m sure,” she continues, nearly giving Arya whiplash. “Jon only met him twice and he’s already completely smitten. Won’t shut up about him,” Sansa shrugs.

“You’re talking about Gendry?” Theon asks, walking back into the room with another box. Arya nods. “He and Jon bonded over some complete nerd shit. Old swords or whatever. Longest two hours of my life.” Arya raises her eyebrows at him as his gaze flickers to the sword tattooed on her forearm. “Right,” he mutters, “I forgot you’re into that shit too. ‘Least I don’t have to worry about you guys not getting along.” He puts the box down and looks back up at Arya. “That’s the last one.”

She smiles at him gratefully, grabbing the blanket from the box in front of her.

“I got you some of that beer you like so much on my way down here from Winterfell.” Theon’s eyes light up and Sansa chuckles. “It’s in the fridge.”

“I knew there was a good reason Sansa asked you to move in.”

He disappears outside the room, barely missing the pillow Arya flicks at him.

* * *

The beer only holds for so long and before they know it, they’re at their favourite pub.

Well, Sansa and Theon’s favourite pub, anyway. The jury’s still out for Arya, since she hasn’t been living in Storm’s End long enough to check out too many places.

So far, though, she likes the place a fair amount. The music’s cool and it’s dingy enough that it reminds her of the pubs back home that Jon and Robb used to sneak her into when she was barely 16. It also doesn’t hurt that Meera’s the bartender so the shots keep flowing their way and the three of them keep drinking. By the time Jon and Robb finally make it there, they’re already half on their way to a certified hangover.

Arya tips herself onto the ledge of her stool and nearly throws herself at Jon when she spots him, Sansa and Theon cackling obnoxiously next to her while Robb just stands there offended that she didn’t give him the same welcome.

In her defence, she saw Robb just this morning. Jon, on the other hand, had been on holiday with Sam and Gilly and their entire brood – Arya had lost count after the third kid - halfway across the world, so she hadn’t seen him in a few months and she had every right to shriek and wrap herself around him like a koala bear.

Jojen and Bran drop by after some time, flanking the nearest table to accommodate Bran’s wheelchair. Arya watches with amusement as they giggle dumbly together, looking more than a little high.

When she notices Robb watching them with a less-than-approving look, she can’t help but punch him in the shoulder.

“Ouch!” He rubs his arm. “What was that for?”

“Stop being such a big brother,” Arya commands. Meera places a shot in front of her and she smiles briefly before she turns her attention back to Robb. “And stop being so extra. I _barely_ grazed you.”

“You’re a bloody boxer you have no actual perception of how painful your damn punches are,” he grumbles, still rubbing his shoulder. “And they’re clearly stoned.”

“So were you just last week, Robert,” Meera pipes in.

Robb gasps as he turns to glare at her and Arya snickers. He always hated when Meera called him Robert when they were kids.

“Arya and I had a smoke just three days ago,” Sansa chimes in, raising her eyebrows mischievously when Arya turns to look at her.

Pushing Robb’s very easily offended buttons was always one of their favourite pastimes.

Robb’s head whips her way so fast, Arya is sure he cranes something. “You’re all fucking cancelled,” he mutters, pointing from Sansa to Meera and then to Arya. He turns to look at Bran again. “And he’s still my little brother.”

Arya sighs.

Robb’s always been a worrier. Even before Bran’s fall and before their mum died and before they found out about Jon and before all hell broke loose, he always carried everyone else’s burden along with his. And it’s not like Arya doesn’t get it, because she does. A lot of things can go wrong. Hell, basically _everything_ has gone wrong already, for all of them. But they still have to actually live and she just wishes that Robb could understand that. That he wouldn’t be so much all the fucking time.

“He’s an adult who can take care of himself,” she points out.

Sansa reaches for Robb’s hand and gives it a squeeze. She’s always had more patience for Robb’s overprotectiveness than Arya.

“If she were alive she would tell you to give it a bloody rest and lighten up.”

Arya’s throat closes up, but only because Sansa’s right.

_Honestly, Robb,_ _leave the worrying to me and your father and go and take the dogs out for a walk. You could use the fresh air,_ she would’ve said, rolling her eyes fondly _._

Robb smiles weakly, turning to look at Bran again. Arya follows his gaze.

Bran is smiling so openly at Jojen, cheeks flushed and body shaking in giggles, and Arya can’t comprehend how anyone can feel anything other than _happy_ for him. Especially given everything he went through when they were kids.

Robb sighs before turning back their way. It’s as close as he’ll come to admitting they’re right. Sansa pushes her glass against his, and he finally smiles as he grabs his shot and downs it in one go. Arya grins too before she and Sansa knock back their drinks.

It’s only a bit later, when Arya is making plans with Jon to catch one of his friends’ gigs, that the sound of glass breaking is faintly heard over the music, followed by a string of rather impressively creative curses. Arya whips her head around to find Meera wrapping a cloth around her bloodied finger.

“Are you okay?” Robb stands up, concern colouring his face as he looks at Meera.

He reaches over the bar and Meera looks up and squeezes one of his hands briefly before continuing to wrap up the wound.

“Yeah, yeah,” she reassures, waving her arm dismissively and picking up shards of glass with her good hand. “Some wanker dropped his glass behind the bar.” She points at the floor where Arya can see a mess of broken glass. “Sliced my finger with a bloody shard,” she growls, leaning down to pick up another piece and sighing tiredly. Robb sits back down, but his eyes don’t leave Meera’s face. “Of all the days for Missandei to call in sick. This place is jam-packed and now I gotta work with one hand.”

“I can help,” Arya offers without second thought. Meera’s eyebrows shoot up. “I was a barmaid for about six months in Braavos,” she shrugs. “I know my way around a bar.”

Meera nods gratefully. “I’ll split my tips with you,” she promises.

“Nah, keep your tips,” Arya dismisses, already getting off her stool to circle around the bar. She ducks under the flap on the other end and makes her way over to Meera. “Just consider this a test drive. If I’m any good then recommend me to your boss. I could use the extra cash and I kinda miss bartending.” Meera smiles at her as Arya bends down to pick up the remaining shards of glass. “Broom?”

“I’ll get it. You just check if anyone needs anything.”

Arya throws some shards into a nearby bin before she catches the dark grey apron Meera throws to her. The other girl disappears into a back room as Arya wraps the canvas around her waist. She turns her attention back to the front, only to find her entire group of friends watching her with varying degrees of shock, confusion and awe.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you work a day in my life,” Theon comments. “How are you even sober enough for this?”

She rolls her eyes.

“I told you, I can handle my liquor. Besides, the last time any of you properly saw me, I was 17.” She notices a guy waving at her on the other side of the bar and she walks over to take his order. She gets back and starts to fix his drink. “It’s not my fault none of you visited me while I was abroad,” she continues, finding some mint and grabbing a nearby pestle to grind it at the bottom of a glass.

“You lived in, like, four different places in under five years,” Jon comments offhandedly. “We wouldn’t have known where to visit even if we wanted to.”

Arya shoots him a smirk, squeezing some lemon into the glass.

Meera comes back with the broom just as Arya’s handing the guy his drink.

She takes a couple more orders – beer, mostly – before she walks back to stand in front of her pack. They’re still looking at her like she’s suddenly grown a tail. She rolls her eyes.

“So, who’s up for shot?”

* * *

Meera’s boss calls Arya with a job offer for a part-time bartending gig three days later. She takes it.

* * *

Living with Sansa and Theon is far easier than Arya expects.

She tells herself it’s because between her job at the pub and her archery, boxing and self-defence classes, she’s practically never home. But the truth is that even when she is home, it’s just _easy_.

In a lot of ways, it’s the same as it used to be when they were kids – even if they didn’t always get along, she was always able to be herself around those two. But there’s also something new to their dynamic, like they all have a new understanding of what it meant to be a family. They give her the distance she needs and in return she tries to open up to them more. Especially to Sansa.

She’s half-sprawled on the couch one Saturday morning when her sister pops into the living room with two steaming coffee cups in hand. Arya straightens up on the sofa to take the mug Sansa hands her, smiling warmly.

Sansa plops down on the other end of the couch, pulling her knees up and making herself comfortable. “So, it’s been a while since we’ve talked about your love life.”

Yeah, Arya totally should’ve seen that coming.

She raises her eyebrows pointedly at her sister. “I don’t think we’ve ever talked about my love life.”

“All the more reason to start now,” Sansa singsongs, eyes bright as she takes a sip from her coffee. “I mean, the last person you mentioned was, um, Eric? And that was what, four? Five years ago?”

She doesn’t particularly like talking about these things, but Sansa does. And in the spirit of finding more common ground to tread on with her sister, she decides to humour her.

“Edric,” she corrects, smiling. “He was nice,” she tells her as she takes a sip of her coffee. “We just wanted fundamentally different things.”

“Like?”

“He wanted marriage and a family.” She can’t help the cringed look that takes over her face. “I was 19,” she deadpans. “I’m 23 now and I’m still not sure I’ll ever want these things.”

Sansa nods thoughtfully. She takes another sip of her coffee, chewing on her bottom lip. “What about after then? In Dorne? In Tarth? In Braavos? Was there no one else?”

Under any other circumstance, Arya would walk away from this conversation. While her time away from Westeros shaped her into the person she is now, she doesn’t really like to talk about it because she doesn’t really like to remember it.

But something about today feels different. Maybe talking about it to Sansa will actually help.

She sighs. “There was this guy in Braavos,” she confesses. Sansa’s ears perk up. “Jaqen.” The name tastes bitter on her tongue. “Long hair. Blue eyes. All mysterious and brooding. Didn’t talk much and looked like he never gave a fuck. I think that’s what drew me to him, how little he seemed to care,” she ponders. “He did care, though. Just not about things you would expect.” She bites the inside of her cheek, looking at Sansa from under her lashes. “He was in a cult.”

Arya is sure that if their life was some stupid sitcom and Sansa had some coffee in her mouth, now would’ve been the moment she would’ve spit it out in Arya’s face.

Instead, Sansa’s eyebrows nearly disappear into her hairline. “Please tell me this isn’t you trying to tell me that you joined a cult in Braavos.”

Arya shrugs. “Only for a little while.” It’s easier to be casual about it now that she was out. Back then, she was hurt and confused and she needed a place to belong. But the truth is that thinking about how close she came to being sucked into that world and letting go of her family fills her with more dread than she cares to admit. “The Faceless Men, they called themselves.”

Sansa pales. “Okay well that doesn’t sound ominous or terrifying at all.”

Arya swallows thickly, drinking some coffee to give herself a moment.

“For the most part they were harmless,” she says, but she feels a shiver run through her body anyway. “They believe in this many-faced god that apparently wears everyone’s skin after they die. They had this hall of everyone’s faces.”

Sansa gasps, eyes widening and somehow paling even more. “Faces?!” she nearly shouts.

“You’re gonna wake Theon up,” Arya points out.

“Faces?!” Sansa whisper-screams, somehow even louder than before.

Arya hides her amused smile behind her mug.

“Not actual faces,” she shrugs. “More like masks. Basically, on the first year mark, they make moulds of new members’ faces and then they turn these moulds into these leather masks and hang them in the hall. Really creepy shit.”

“What the bloody fuck Arya?” Sansa shakes her head, face contorting into a horrified look. “That sounds so fucked up.”

“Kinda was,” she admits.

Sansa bristles, shaking her head again. “How long were you with Jaqen?”

She feels her throat tighten up at the memories. For a moment, she’s back there, trapped in a relationship with a man she barely knows, in a place that could never be her home.

“About a year.”

Sansa’s eyes turn glassy. Arya can tell she’s genuinely worried now.

“You stayed in that psycho cult for a whole year?”

“Jaqen only started trying to officially recruit me around the three-month mark,” she dismisses. “I bailed and moved to the other side of town when I first caught wind of that hall of faces.” Sansa doesn’t need to know that it actually took her months to finally gather the strength to walk out on Jaqen. “I’ll never unsee that shit ever.”

“That sounds so fucked up,” Sansa repeats, absolutely horrified.

Arya shrugs again. “I got out.” That’s what she reminds herself every time she falls into that spiral. Sansa is still looking at her like someone shot a live bird in front of her, though, so Arya tries to distract her. “When I moved I met a girl named Freya,” she tells her. “She was the escape I needed at the time. And for the few months we went out, she was. At least before she almost threw me off a bridge.”

Sansa’s face falls.

“The accident,” she realizes. “She was the one driving.” Sansa puts her coffee mug aside before she nearly leaps forward and throws her arms around Arya. Arya hugs her sister back, smiling into her neck. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you through it.”

“You are now,” Arya reassures.

Sansa wraps her arms tighter around her sister. “I’m so glad you came home and didn’t stay there.” She pulls away after a while, leaning back to sit squarely on her end of the sofa. “It’s no wonder you haven’t been with anyone since Braavos.”

Arya tries to keep a straight face. She really does. Except that she doesn’t and she totally winces as she takes another sip of coffee, Hot Pie’s friend swimming to the forefront of her mind. Oh, who was she kidding, she knows perfectly well his name is Gendry.

Sansa’s still recovering from her earlier shock when her soft look turns curious before her eyes widen in sudden understanding.

In that stupid sitcom version, Sansa would spit out her coffee for the second time right about now.

“Sansa—“

Arya doesn’t manage more than that, Sansa’s gasp interrupting her. She’s pretty sure it’s loud enough to wake Theon up, along with their neighbours and pretty much everyone else in the Stormlands.

“Arya!” She gives up on trying to be quiet entirely, her voice a full-on screech by now. “You _have_ been with someone since you got here,” she accuses, her index finger nearly touching Arya’s nose.

She looks surprised, offended, impressed and excited all at once.

Arya splutters for a few seconds, trying to think of a way she can turn this around. But Sansa’s prying eyes are still wide and positively glowing and Arya knows the harder she avoids this conversation, the worse it’ll get. So she powers through.

“Just one time.” That’s a lie _._ ”Alright fine, three,” she relents. If Arya thought it was impossible for Sansa to look more excited, she was wrong. “On the same night,” she adds hurriedly, not wanting to give her sister more fodder for her undoubtedly spiralling imagination.

The ways Sansa’s grin takes over her entire face tells Arya it’s a little bit too late for that.

“Who was he?” Sansa pauses, thoughtful. “Or she? Was it good? Are you going out? Do they live here in Storm’s End? Do they live in Winterfell? Seven hells, Arya, I have so many questions!”

“I can tell,” she reassures her sister. “But I can’t give you a lot of answers because I was pretty wasted. I don’t even remembers his name.” Another lie. Desperate times and all that. “And it wasn’t a big deal.” And yet she still finds herself thinking about black hair, blue eyes and a swirl of tattoos a lot more often than she should. “It was months ago, when I visited before officially moving here. I went to a party with Jon and Brienne at Renly’s place and got pretty pissed and then Jon left with Ygritte and Brienne started doing her weird mating dance with Jaime and I kinda ran into this guy and his friend while trying to leave.” She makes sure not to mention Hot Pie. If Sansa gets even a whiff of that, then she will use her weird instagramming skills to find and stalk Gendry and Arya is not about to go into that wormhole, thank you very much. “He was cute so I didn’t leave.” She hopes she sounds as offhanded as she’s trying to be. “And no, I haven’t seen him since and I don’t intend to.”

Sansa’s forehead wrinkles, her lips pulling down in a frown. “Was it that bad?”

Arya flushes.

“No, it was actually really, really good,” she admits, voice thick. Sansa raises an eyebrow, her mouth curling up on one side, entirely too mischievous. “But I’m not looking for anything right now,” Arya adds quickly before her sister starts her scheming. “I just want to settle in and get my life back on track. After that, I’ll figure out what I want and whether or not it involves being with someone else.”

Arya doesn’t expect Sansa to give up so easily, which is why she’s all the more surprised when she does.

“Fair enough,” Sansa allows. “I won’t let anyone pressure you into anything,” she promises. Arya smiles, nudging Sansa’s thigh with the tip of her socked foot. “But,” she adds after a moment, “if you’re ever ready, whenever that is, I _will_ find him for you. That’s a promise.”

Arya laughs as she takes another sip of her coffee.

“I don’t doubt that.”

For now, Sansa doesn’t need to know that Arya knows his full name. Or that he’s a friend of Hot Pie’s.

But hey, maybe one day.

* * *

It’s nearly three days later when Arya walks back to her building from her morning boxing class to find Theon downstairs, standing in the middle of a mess of boxes, suitcases and bags.

She’s about to ask what the fuck’s going on before she remembers.

_Right. Sansa and Theon’s friend is moving in to the building today._

“Need some help, Greyjoy?”

Theon startles, not having seen her, before his face lights up in a smile. He nods.

“This side is clothes and linen,” he points at some suitcases. “The boxes are mostly kitchen stuff. Pick your poison.”

Arya grabs the nearest suitcase and stars rolling it into the building. She stops by the door, turning to look at Theon again.

“Which flat is it again?”

“7B.”

She nods before making her way to the elevator. She stops by her place to drop her duffel off before she grabs the suitcase and heads over upstairs. The door to the apartment is already open when she gets there. She pops her head in but she can’t see anyone inside.

“Hello?” No answer. She steps into the house, looking around at the piles of boxes littering the place. “Theon’s friend? Where do I put this suitcase?”

She hears a commotion in another room before Sansa’s distinctive voice echoes around the flat.

“I think that’s my sister.”

Arya is ready to confirm that yes, it is in fact her, when Sansa comes into view, her ginger hair piled up on her head in a messy bun. Arya barely has time to register that she’s wearing one of her band shirts before someone else comes into view.

Arya’s eyes widen when she spots him. Judging by the way he halts and the way his eyebrows push together, he’s just as confused to see her.

His hair’s a little shorter than she remembers but just as dark, and his blue eyes stare at her with the same intensity they did that night, his pink lips hanging open in shock.

Arya’s vision blurs, her heart racing and her thoughts going a mile a minute. She finally lets go of the suitcase’s handle, palms suddenly very sweaty.

“Arya?” He finally whispers, voice soft and almost in awe, and fuck, she really wasn’t _that_ drunk that night after all because his voice is as hoarse as she remembers too.

She gulps, unable to do anything but stare back at him.

_Fuck._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s not sure why she tries so hard to avoid him.
> 
> It takes too much energy, really.

“Wait, you two know each other?”

Arya forcefully tears her eyes away from Gendry to look at her sister. She doesn’t know how long she’s been standing in this apartment - _his_ apartment – doing nothing but staring at him, mouth hanging open. Could be minutes or hours or days. There are probably rules about these situations and how long staring is actually acceptable, but she cannot bring herself to think about any of those things because the more she tries to understand what’s happening, the more surreal it feels.

Her life really is the plot of a cheap movie.

She shakes her head to clear it, blinking a few times to gather her thoughts.

“We, um, have a mutual friend,” she eventually stammers, chuckling nervously. “Met briefly once.”

Gendry’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Briefly?” He asks deliberately, his confused look turning to amusement now and Arya kind of wants to punch him in the face. It’s not lost on her that the lopsided smirk currently occupying his features is the same one that drew her to him on that night. He clears his throat casually. “I think we got to know one another well enough, all things considered,” he muses. She narrows her eyes at him. “But, in your defence, you were pretty wasted at that party.”

“Party?” Sansa repeats curiously, and Arya can practically _hear_ the cogs physically turning in her head.

Sansa is fucking sharp. Not that Arya would ever tell her that, but she is, and if Gendry says another word, she _will_ put two and two together and they will be exposed and Arya is really, really, _absolutely_ _not ready_ for the clusterfuck that will surely ensue if (when) that happens.

She wants to say something to save herself but when her gaze flickers to Gendry’s again, she’s momentarily distracted by the way he’s looking at her, eyes crinkling in amusement as he bites his lower lip to keep from smiling too wide. Worst of all, those damn antlers are peeking out from under the collar of his soft cotton shirt.

Arya _hates_ it.

Does he not understand the concept of a collared shirt? Must his clothes all be so indecent? Or is he just physically unable to hide that tattoo? All of his tattoos, for that matter. He needs to hide them _all_.

Suddenly her mind is swimming with memories of a party not so long ago. Of fingers pumping into her and a strong arm propping her against a bathroom sink. Of her biting down on his shoulder to keep from screaming too loud. Of a hand intertwined with hers as she makes her way outside to find a ride. Of a pair of blue eyes looking up at her as she straddles strong hips, hands traveling up her sides reverently. Of a kiss she plants on a tattooed collarbone simply because she can’t help herself.

Arya’s mouth runs dry as Gendry clears his throat.

“The party my uncle threw for Loras a few months back,” he says offhandedly. Arya startles, blinking to clear her straying thoughts. The idiot is going to expose them, but she can only watch as he turns to look at Sansa, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I think you guys were up in Pyke.”

Sansa nods slowly, looking pensive. Arya should do something about that, she knows, but she’s more preoccupied with the fact that Gendry just called Renly his… uncle?

That was another thing – she distinctly remembers Sansa saying his last name was Baratheon.

“I thought your last name was Waters,” she accuses, brows pushed together. Gendry shifts his attention back to her. “What’s up with Gendry Baratheon?”

“Renly’s party?” Sansa mutters at the same time.

Arya winces even as her eyes remain on Gendry, perfectly aware of what’s coming. He shoots her a puzzled look, a small, confused smile appearing on his face.

“Technically they’re both correct. It’s a long story,” he dismisses, gesturing vaguely with his hand at the same time Sansa lets out one of her not-so-discreet gasps.

Arya closes her eyes, willing this moment to be over. When she opens them, Sansa’s eyes are positively glowing as they dart at an inhuman speed between her and Gendry, mouth hanging open.

“Sansa,” Arya grits through her teeth, voice clipped as she walks towards her sister. “Theon says we should go down and help him with more boxes.”

She wraps her fingers around Sansa’s wrist and all but yanks her out of the room.

“I’ll come with,” Gendry offers, moving behind them.

“NO!” Arya practically yells as she turns to keep him from following them. He startles into a halt and Arya winces again. “I mean, no, you should, um, stay. Sort through your boxes,” she suggests more softly, keeping one hand firmly around Sansa’s wrist and holding up her other arm to keep Gendry at a distance. “Someone has to unpack we can’t all be moving boxes that’s not practical,” she says in one breath. “You stay here,” she adds, hands placating, “and do your thing. We’ll grab the rest of your stuff for you.”

She attempts a smile, one arm still keeping him in place, before she turns away, running towards the elevator and pulling her sister along.

It’s only when the doors shut behind them that she allows herself to breathe, slumping against the wall and closing her eyes as she tries to process everything that’s happened in the past five minutes. When she blinks them open, Sansa is leaning back across from her, an entirely-too-amused look on her face.

“Don’t say anything,” Arya warns.

“I’m not saying anything,” Sansa singsongs, holding her hands up.

“Good.” Arya brings her hands together, twisting one of her rings nervously around her finger. “Because there’s nothing to say.”

Sansa nods, but her smile is growing by the second and Arya knows her sister well enough to anticipate the outburst coming her way any moment now. Never one to disappoint, Sansa only manages to keep it together until they reach the ground floor.

“YOU SLEPT WITH GENDRY?!”

Arya doesn’t even have time to gloat that she saw it coming because the elevator doors open up in that moment to reveal a mortified-looking Theon standing right there with a box between his arms. His jaw slacks comically as he registers Sansa’s words, eyes darting between the two girls before he shakes his head lightly, turning on the spot and walking the other way.

_Seven fucking hells._

“Theon!” Arya yells after him. “Where are you going, you idiot? We’re supposed to be taking the boxes upstairs not outside!” She starts to follow before she pauses in the lobby, groaning as she turns to look at Sansa. “We _will_ talk about this later. Until then, not another word.”

Sansa nods, the look on her face still way too entertained for Arya’s liking. She’ll have to do something about that later.

She continues her walk after Theon. He turns to her when he hears her pacing behind him, face entirely too pale. Under any other circumstance, Arya would be laughing.

“I thought you didn’t know him?” He mumbles.

“I thought I didn’t.” Her answer only manages to make the wrinkle between his brows more prominent. “It’s a conversation for later,” she promises. “But for now, I love you but if you so much as _breathe_ a word about this to Gendry, or anyone else for that matter, I _will_ tell Sansa about that time you were broken up for a minute and I found you drunk and crying while wearing her tank top.”

He somehow manages to turn an even lighter shade of yellow.

“Noted.”

* * *

“So, you and Gendry, huh?”

Arya looks up from her slump on the couch, glaring at her sister. She takes another swig from the beer she’s nursing.

It’s been a long day. After managing to convince Theon and Sansa to stop acting so fucking weird and get to work, they did a pretty good job of helping Gendry properly move in.

Overall, there was very little awkwardness to it all. Maybe it was because she made sure she and Gendry were never left alone, or maybe it really wasn’t that big a deal. Maybe Gendry just did that sort of thing on the regular.

The bitter taste in her mouth, she suspects, has less to do with the beer and more to do with how much that last thought bothers her.

But it’s not like she hasn’t done her fair share of it.

_Pull your shit together._

She straightens up slightly to makes room for her sister.

“No, Sansa,” she mutters tiredly. Theon walks into the room behind her sister, hair wet and wearing one of Sansa’s old shirts. It’s a ratty pink cotton thing they got from that summer camp they used to go to in Riverrun. Arya bites back an amused smile before she turns her attention back to her sister, watching as she plops down next to her. “There is no me and Gendry.”

Theon pauses mid-walk.

“I’m gonna...” he trails off, pointing vaguely in the direction of his and Sansa’s room.

“You don’t have to,” Arya reassures. He’s trying to give them some privacy and Arya loves him for it, but he already knows enough. “It’s better if you know, too.”

Theon smiles as he slumps down on the other couch.

“Arya, it’s different now,” Sansa says eventually. She pulls her feet up and sits cross-legged on the sofa, turning her entire body to face her sister. “You didn’t know he was our friend when you told me about him.”

Arya feels Theon’s eyes shift curiously to her, but he’s nice enough not to pry. She keeps her eyes trained on the ground, chewing on her lower lip.

“I didn’t,” she concedes. “But it doesn’t change anything.” Her gaze flits back to her sister’s face. “I’m still not looking for a relationship.” Her father crosses her mind. She thinks about his tired smile and the faraway look he gets on his face any time they mention her mother. “Besides, we met one time almost half a year ago. It didn’t mean anything.” Her throat feels tight. Unbidden, a memory of her pushing herself on her tiptoes to meet a pair of lips in the middle of a crowded kitchen comes to her. As far as first kisses go, she’s had worse. She blinks the memory away. “I’m sure we can find some way to get along without it being awkward.”

Sansa’s lips settle into a thin line, but she nods.

“So how does this work? Can we still be friends with him?”

Arya raises her eyebrows at Theon. “This is not sixth grade,” she tells him flatly.

“I’m just saying-“

“Theon,” she interrupts before he can share whatever stupid, stupid thought he was about to say. “He’s one of your best mates. Would you really stop talking to him if I asked you to?”

Theon sinks further into the cushions, looking from Sansa to Arya.

“Nope,” he finally admits.

Arya shrugs as if to say “there you go.” She takes another sip from her beer. She can feel Sansa’s eyes still on her.

* * *

She’s not sure why she tries so hard to avoid him.

It takes too much energy, really.

* * *

She’s covering a Friday shift with Meera and Missandei a few weeks later when Meera clears her throat.

“Okay, there’s no easy way to say this so I’ll just say it.” Arya lifts one eyebrow as she turns away from the row of shot glasses she’s lining on the bar to glance at Meera. The girl winces as she runs a hand through her curls. “I made out with your brother today.”

“Which brother?” Arya asks, a little distracted as she points at the bottle of tequila to her left.

Meera rolls her eyes, reaching for the bottle and handing it to Arya.

“Well, it’s definitely not the gay one who’s in love with my brother. And as far as Rickon’s concerned, I’ve done some pretty fucked up shit in my time. Underage teens, though, not one of them.”

Yeah, okay, that _was_ a pretty stupid question.

“Robb,” Arya says dumbly, pushing the shots towards the gaggle of girls waiting. One of them smiles in thanks and Arya nods before she looks around the pub. Missandei’s serving some guy on the other side of the bar but other than that, no one else seems to be calling for them, so she turns her full attention back to Meera. “You made out with Robb.”

“Yes.”

Meera looks more annoyed than happy.

“And you’re upset about it?” Arya ventures a guess, trying to read her expression.

Meera runs her hand through her hair again before folding her arms in front of her. “ _I’m_ not upset about it, but _he_ absolutely lost his shit.” She leans back against the counter. “Some bullshit about how it wasn’t right because we go way back. Like either of us did anything about it back then.”

Arya rolls her eyes so hard she nearly gives herself a headache.

“Yeah that’s Robb’s patronizing ass alright,” she mutters. She loves her brother and she knows he means well but his ability to blow literally everything out of proportion is unequalled. “Did he give you the whole what will x/y/z think speech?”

“Your parents will think I’m taking advantage of their daughter! What if they think I made a move on you when you were underage? What if it ruins our friendship?” Meera mimics Robb rather impressively, waving her hands in the air dramatically. “What friendship?” She asks to no one in particular. “It's like the wanker doesn’t even realize we haven’t really talked in five years. Ruin our friendship my arse.”

Arya snorts.

“So it wasn’t an unexpected thing?”

“I’ve been into him since I was fucking 16,” Meera admits. “But he was 22 and I wasn’t gonna spring that on him no matter how shaggable he was.”

“Ew.”

Meera smirks, looking somewhere between amused and apologetic.

“Point is, he was older so I didn’t think much of it. And then he left Winterfell, and it’s not like I was just going to sit around and wait for some guy I didn’t even know was into me. As far as I was concerned it wasn’t ever going to happen.”

Missandei joins them just then, handing Arya a wad of bills to stuff in the tip jar. She leans against the counter next to Meera, pulling out a small mirror from her pocket and fixing up her septum ring.

“’You still going on about Robb then?” Arya’s forehead creases and Missandei smiles sheepishly, stuffing her mirror back in her pocket and tugging on one of her tight braids. “I’ve been watching them do this weird mating dance for months,” she shrugs.

“When I moved out here, we started hanging out again,” Meera explains. “He was with Talisa so I just assumed there was nothing to it. But then Talisa was suddenly out of the picture. And then the thing with Grey happened.”

She hasn’t met him yet, but Arya knows Grey is Missandei’s boyfriend, so she automatically diverts her eyes to her.

“The thing with Grey?”

Someone calls for their attention on the other end of the bar. They turn at the same time to find Margaery waving them over. “I need more shots!” She twirls one of her immaculate curls around her finger, smiling drunkenly at them.

Arya takes a deep breath, her nostrils flaring, while Missandei closes her eyes and curses under her breath.

Margaery, while not entirely unpleasant, is one of their more “special” regulars. It’s not that she’s a bad person. She can actually be quite fun. It’s just that she requires a certain level of patience and energy that Arya doesn’t always possess. And neither do Meera and Missandei, she’s come to learn.

“I’ll take one for the team,” Meera grunts, pushing herself off the counter. “You tell her about Grey,” she instructs, pointing from Missandei to Arya before she walks over to Margaery.

Arya raises her eyebrows at Missandei expectantly.

“Right. So a few months back, Robb got pretty wasted at our place and kinda started waxing poetic about Meera. How she was so pretty and how he always had a thing for her, even now, so maybe he wasn’t a perv because she was an adult now. Maybe he was just a Meera perv. His words, not mine.” Arya snorts. “It was a whole situation,” Missandei adds, sighing and waving her hands around. “And then he basically told us that he broke up with Talisa because of Meera.”

“Oh.”

“Here’s the thing. I love my boyfriend, I really do. So it’s with all the love I have for him that I say that he is a bloody lightweight.” Missandei’s face bleeds into a guilty smile. “A few days after Robb’s confession, Grey was here. I thought I had it under control but Meera kept giving him drinks and I disappeared for one second and his dumb wasted ass was like ‘you’re the greatest I can see why Robb broke up with Talisa for you’ and some other bollocks about how great Meera was and how Robb thought so too.”

Meera reappears next to them in that moment. She shrugs.

“So I went for it.”

Arya raises her eyebrows. “Just like that?”

“Look, I’ve had my fair share over the past few years. Things even got pretty serious with one of my exes. But none of it worked out, and when I moved here and Robb and I were suddenly running the same circles again, I realized that I was still stupidly into him. And I figured we’re both single, neither of us is a minor, he broke up with his damn girlfriend because of me. If this shit was ever going to happen, it had to be now.” She pauses to roll her eyes before her next words. “And still, he fucking panics.”

Arya grabs the rag on her shoulder, moving to dry some glasses next to the sink.

“Robb can’t do easy if it hits him in the face,” she states.

“Kiss him in the face, more like,” Missandei point out.

Arya grins and Meera rolls her eyes again.

“He’ll come around,” Arya reassures. “He’ll whine about it for a while. A long while. But he’ll come around. And if he doesn’t, I’ll knock some sense into him.”

Meera sighs.

“I’d rather deal with it on my own for now,” she tells her. Missandei moves to stand next to Arya and goes about washing the glasses in the sink. “I just wanted you to know so it’s not weird later if it comes up or whatever.”

Meera’s straightforwardness has always been one of her more endearing traits, Arya thinks, so she nods, smiling gratefully.

“Never spill any secrets in front of Grey no matter how wasted you are is the real moral of this story,” she mutters after a moment.

Meera snorts and Missandei chuckles in amusement. She hands Arya another glass to dry and proceeds to shut the water off. Arya towel-dries the last of the cups, handing Missandei the rag to use on her hands as they lean back against the counter again.

Missandei looks up next to her, her smile suddenly growing wider. “Speak of the devil.”

Arya follows Missandei’s gaze, her eyes landing on two people making their way straight to the bar. She doesn’t really recognize the one on the left, but judging by the wide smile he’s giving Missandei, she’s going to safely assume that’s Grey.

Her thoughts, however, are more preoccupied with the mop of black hair and clear blue eyes next to him. Or more accurately, the person they belong to.

It takes her a moment to realize that Gendry’s eyes widen as they finally find hers, as if he wasn’t expecting to see her here.

He probably wasn’t, she rationalizes. Why would he? It’s not like they’ve talked at all since he moved into her building.

Arya takes the rag back and slings it across her shoulder, wiping her hands on her apron and trying to calm her nerves. Missandei walks forward and leans over the bar to plant a kiss on her boyfriend as soon as he and Gendry are close enough.

“Hi baby.” She reaches her thumb to wipe away the red lipstick now staining his mouth before she pulls back. He has a dopy grin on his face and it’s all Arya can do not to roll her eyes at how cute they are. Missandei turns her attention to Gendry, wagging her eyebrows at him. “Baratheon.”

“Naath,” he greets back, a small amused smile colouring his features. “Meera,” he adds, turning his attention to the girl in question. She salutes him with some sort of exaggerated bow before she walks off, leaving to make a drink for a customer. He finally meets Arya’s gaze again. “Arya.”

His voice is low and scratchy and the way he says her name makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

She watches him take a seat on the stool in front of her. She can’t bring herself to say anything so she nods, willing herself to look away from the tattoo that’s peeking out from underneath his green checked shirt.

He does own collared shirts, she notes. They just don’t work. She can still see the damn thing.

“Grey, this is Arya,” Missandei says eventually, snapping Arya from her thoughts.

Grey’s smile is genuine and warm when she turns to him, his eyes kind as they look at her. Arya likes him already.

“Of course, Robb’s sister!” he says excitedly, reaching over the bar to shake her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Arya’s gaze trails to Missandei for a moment.

“I’ve heard a lot about you too,” she replies, honestly. Missandei tries to bite back a laugh. “Right,” she adds after a moment. She looks back and forth between Grey and Gendry, her eyes lingering on the latter for a moment. “What will it be?”

* * *

Though the pub fills up fairly early, Gendry and Grey stick around at the bar for the better part of the night, entertaining them with stories that seem to get more ridiculous the more buzzed they become.

When Margaery appears out nowhere and nearly throws herself in Gendry’s lap, Arya is slightly alarmed with how much she wants to punch the girl. It gets worse because Gendry disappears soon after, and try as she might, Arya can’t find him anywhere around the pub. Even when she chances a throwaway glance at Margaery’s table, she is both disappointed and relieved to find the girl flirting animatedly with a guy who’s decidedly _not_ Gendry.

Eventually she resigns herself to the fact that he must’ve left without saying goodbye, trying not to dwell on why that bothers her so much.

Meera comes back from her break soon after, saving Arya from her treacherous thoughts. She really needs a smoke and somewhere quiet to clear her mind and calm herself down. Meera doesn’t need to be told twice, handing her their shared pack wordlessly and nodding her head towards the door. Arya smiles gratefully before she disappears out back.

The cool air feels good against her skin when she’s outside, the breeze in the dark alleyway surprisingly comforting. She cracks her neck, hands coming up the rest on the small of her back as she stretches lightly. When her muscles feel slightly less sore, she reaches for a cigarette and props it into her mouth, finally noticing the figure watching her a few steps away.

He didn’t leave without saying goodbye after all.

“What are you doing here?” She asks him, instinctively walking over.

Gendry pushes himself off the wall, taking a drag from his cigarette.

She takes a moment to admire the way his sleeves are cuffed right below his elbows, swirls of tattoos visible on his forearms.

“Hiding from Marg,” he admits, smiling sheepishly. Arya snorts as she lights up her cigarette, shoving her pack and lighter in her back pocket. “Sorry I’m here,” he says after a beat.

Arya’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Here in a creepy but public side street?”

He rolls his eyes. “Here at the pub. Didn’t know you were working tonight.”

She watches him curiously. “You know I work here?”

He pauses, hesitating for a moment. Like he might’ve said too much. “Theon mentioned it,” he shrugs eventually.

She doesn’t know what to make of it. Did he ask Theon about her? Or did Theon just offer up this information without prodding?

She can’t ask him that, though, so she asks the other lingering question on her mind.

“You wouldn’t have come if you knew I was working tonight?” Her voice is higher than she expects and much too aggressive, betraying how much that idea actually bothers her.

“Well, you’ve been avoiding me,” Gendry says matter-of-factly. He sounds as frustrated with her as she is with him.

“I haven’t been avoiding you.” It comes out both too defensive and too weak at the same time. Gendry raises his eyebrows pointedly at her as she takes another drag from her cigarette, blowing the smoke away. “I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

He scoffs. Despite the smile on his face, he doesn’t look very amused.

“Let’s see.” He pauses, puts out his cigarette and starts listing items on his fingers. “One, We hook up and you don’t give me your full name or your number. Two, you’re gone before I even wake up. Three, I see you by complete chance months after and the first thing you do is run out on me and drag your sister along. Four, I live in your building, am friends with your flatmates and yet, with the exception of today, I’ve not see you once since I moved in.” He drops his arms, looking away as he leans back on the wall. “I’d have to be pretty damn thick to get the wrong idea.”

Even though he’s not telling her anything that isn’t strictly true, Arya still feels like she’s being repeatedly punched in the gut.

Maybe she went about this the wrong way.

“I’m sorry,” she offers. “That night was…” _Unexpected. Great. Too Much._ “I don’t want anything beyond that,” she settles on.

“You’re assuming that I do,” Gendry counters. His eyes find hers again. “Look, you don’t have to apologize. I just thought— the fact that _you_ are Sansa’s sister. I figured it would make things easier, not harder. Because I’m with them all the time and with you and I already being familiar with each other— forget about the whole sleeping together thing for a minute…” he trails off, swallowing thickly. “We got on at the party, even before that happened. We had fun. And I just assumed, with me being so close to Sansa and Theon and hanging out at their place a lot… you being their flatmate was supposed to be a good thing. But it clearly isn’t for you, so I won’t come over that much anymore.”

Arya’s heart leaps to her throat. “Why not?”

He scoffs, kicking his feet before he looks at her from under his lashes. “We’ve established you’re avoiding me. Which means you either don’t like me, or worse, I make you uncomfortable. You shouldn’t be made to feel uncomfortable. Not anywhere, but especially not in your own home.”

In the short time that she’s known him, Gendry has made Arya feel a number of things. Uncomfortable was never one of them.

“Come over,” she tells him.

“Arya, you don’t have to-”

“No, I mean it,” she interrupts. She stubs her cigarette with the toe of her sneaker and walks closer to him. “I was worried we wouldn’t be on the same page but it seems we are and we run the same circles… there’s no point in making this awkward. And you’re right,” she adds, “we had fun at the party.” She smiles, thinking about Gendry’s eyes crinkling at the corners as they watched Hot Pie make an ass of himself on the makeshift dance floor. “Let’s try to be friends.”

His smile is small but infectious.

“Okay then. But if at any moment you change your mind…” he trails off.

Arya smiles.

“I’ll let you know,” she promises. “If I ever change my mind, one way or the other.”

She could kick herself because she has no idea why she said that last part. There is no other way. She literally just told him that.

It’s too late to take it back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can make you a cheese toastie,” Gendry offers.
> 
> Right on cue, her stomach grumbles again. “That’s a hard yes.”

She’s watching Sansa and Theon fumble by the door one evening about a week later when she asks them where they’re off to.

“Gendry’s,” Sansa tells her absently, piling her bright hair on top of her head. “Movie night.”

She hasn’t actually hung out with Gendry since they agreed to try and be friends, so maybe it’s time to put that theory to the test. Besides, she doesn’t want to stay home alone. But mostly she really wants to try and make it work with him because the one thing she realized when he was at the pub is that she really likes spending time with him.

She clears her throat, twisting one of her rings absently.

“Do you think it’d be okay if I come with?”

Theon looks up abruptly from his phone and Sansa’s hands still in her hair.

They both nod, lips curling up.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Theon tells her. “Lemme just piss real quick.”

He disappears into the bathroom as Arya walks over to Sansa, grabbing her phone on the way and shoving it in her back pocket. She stops in front of the hallway mirror, assessing her look.

All things considered, she looks fine. Her braid’s exceptionally messy today, but she kinda likes it like that. Granted, some of the strands are stuck in her ear studs from when she was napping before, but whatever, it doesn’t look half bad. She thinks about changing into sweats or something more comfortable but decides she’s fine in her ripped jeans and oversized shirt. It doesn’t escape her that she’s actually putting too much thought into how she’s looking. She groans under her breath, loosely tucking her shirt under her jeans and staring at her reflection.

Sansa comes to stand behind her, fixing her hair up in the reflection.

“I take it you and Gendry have worked out your issues?”

“We don’t have any issues,” Arya defends weakly. Sansa lifts one sceptic eyebrow, her lips a thin line. “Fine, yeah,” she concedes. “We’re trying out this whole friends thing.”

Her sister nods slowly, eyes narrowing lightly as she focuses on Arya’s reflection in the mirror.

“And you’re sure you’re okay with being just friends?”

Arya swallows thickly. “It was my idea.”

Sansa’s lips turn up in one corner. “You’ve has some questionable ideas over the years,” she comments. “So are you sure you’re okay with this one?”

_Yes. No. Maybe._

Arya’s saved from having to figure out the answer when Theon comes out of the bathroom and walks behind them to open the front door.

“Let’s go.”

Sansa shoots her a look that says this conversation is filed for later before she follows him out. Arya sighs as she grabs their keys off the counter, walking after them and shutting the door behind her.

She stares at her feet during the short elevator ride, trying to calm down her nerves. This doesn’t have to be a big deal. They promised each other they would try to be civil with one another.

Gendry’s smile is soft when he opens the door, his eyes widening very slightly when he notices Arya behind Theon and Sansa. His gaze lingers on her for a moment, looking genuinely surprised but not unhappy.

Sansa presses a sloppy kiss to his cheek before she snags the bag of Doritos he’s holding and walks past him. Theon only snickers as he follows her in. 

“Didn’t know you were coming,” Gendry tells her once they’re alone. His voice is low and scratchy enough that he has to clear his throat as he shuts the door behind her. “I’m glad you did.”

Arya shrugs. “Didn’t have anything better to do,” she teases offhandedly.

He smirks lopsidedly, nodding before he walks away. She follows him into the living room to find Jon already there, chomping on a bag of Monster Munch as he watches some laundry detergent commercial with great interest. He tears his eyes away from the television long enough to notice them, face lighting up when he does.

“I thought you weren’t coming tonight?”

“And pass up the opportunity to hang out with you lot?”

She grins mischievously as she plops down on the couch next to him, manoeuvring herself to wrap her arms around him a little awkwardly before planting a kiss on his cheek. Jon squeezes her to him as best as he can without getting any crumbs on her before pulling away and throwing the bag of crisps into her lap.

Gendry’s head pops in the doorway.

“Beer? Coke? Tea? Milk? Tequila?”

“Whatever you’ve got in the fridge that’s not milk,” Theon answers.

Sansa gets off the couch she’s sharing with her boyfriend. “I’ll help you.”

Arya doesn’t miss the smile he shoots her before his floating head disappears back inside the kitchen, followed by Sansa.

Jon turns his attention to Theon.

“Greyjoy.” The boy in question looks up from the game he’s playing on his phone, eyebrows pushing together. “It’s your pick tonight.”

“Oh no,” Arya mutters under her breath. “We’re gonna get stuck watching Finding Nemo again, aren’t we?”

Jon barks a laugh next to her.

“Or Finding Dory,” he shoots and Arya nods exaggeratedly, trying to keep a straight face.

“Mayhaps it‘ll be Moby Dick this time.”

Theon just stares, very much _not_ amused.

Jon reaches for another crisp, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Jaws?”

“You guys are hilarious,” Theon grumbles, grabbing the bowl of popcorn next to him and throwing a few at Arya and Jon.

Jon catches one in his mouth and Arya dissolves in laughter.

She pulls herself together to speak. “What was that movie he made us watch 50 times when we were kids?”

“Pretty sure it was The Little Mermaid,” Jon quips.

Arya only laughs some more.

“No no no,” she argues when she settles down. She pauses, eyes shut in concentration as she tries to remember. “I mean, yes, he made us watch The Little Mermaid an inhuman amount of time, but that’s not the one I’m talking about. It was the other one, with the smart sharks.”

Jon’s eyes widen in realization, a crisp almost flying out of his mouth in his excitement. “Riiiight.” Theon continues to glare at them. “Oh, Gods, what was the name of that movie again? Something something something sea.”

Arya shakes her head, shovelling another crisp into her mouth. “No, it was only three words.” She wracks her brain, trying to remember. Bran and Sansa used to get so scared watching it but she, Jon and Robb would just laugh at how implausible it all looked while Theon would just rave about all the sea creatures. Her eyes widen as the name finally hits her. “DEEP BLUE SEA!”

“YES!” Jon yells next to her at the same time Theon slumps further into the couch cushions, grumbling under his breath.

“Are we talking about Theon’s favourite movie?” Gendry asks and Arya looks up to find him making his way from the kitchen, Sansa right at his tail.

“Traitor,” Theon mumbles.

“That would be Moana,” Sansa supplies, eyebrows raised.

Theon gasps at her, looking positively affronted. “This is an attack on my people,” he huffs dramatically. “You’re all a bunch of racists.”

Gendry laughs as he hands Arya and Jon two beers before filling the empty seat next to Arya.

She doesn’t miss the way he keeps to the furthest part of the couch, clearly careful not to cross any boundaries. She rolls her eyes as she moves closer to Jon, making a little more room for him before she nudges him in the ribs. When he looks at her, she nods at the small space between them, smiling lightly. Gendry mirrors her expression as he relaxes into the couch, spreading his legs a little wider and slumping until Arya’s shoulder is pressed against his arm. She hands him the bag of Monster Munch silently.

“So,” Jon says after a moment, looking at Theon. “What will it be?”

Theon grabs the nearest cushion and hugs the life out of it, eyes trained on his knees.

“Aquaman,” he mumbles.

Arya and Jon dissolve into another fit of laughter.

* * *

By the time the credits roll on the second movie, Arya’s so hungry her stomach starts cramping.

Except that she can’t exactly move because sometime during the evening, she graduated from human woman to Jon’s very own pillow. She sighs, running her hand through his thick curls as she looks around the room. She smirks as she realizes everyone else has dozed off too. 

While Jon’s head rests in her lap, Gendry is using her other side as his cushion, cheek now pressed to her upper arm.

Theon and Sansa are tangled together on the other couch, his arms wrapped protectively around her and her face tucked into his neck. Arya’s gaze travels from the peaceful expression on Theon’s face to take in the way he’s wrapped almost entirely around her sister, Sansa gripping his shirt tightly.

She smiles, something about the two of them entwined together spreading a comforting warmth through her.

She turns her attention back to her right side.

Gendry’s hair falls softly on his forehead, his thick eyelashes long and dark against his cheeks. His lips are pursed lightly, pink and plump as they jut forward, his light stubble tickling her arm.

She takes in the slope of his nose, his sharp cheekbones and the curve of his mouth. Her eyes move down to his arm, his elbow half-propped on her thigh. She watches the cluster of tattoos peppered across his forearm, spiralling upwards until they disappear under the sleeve of his thin t-shirt.

For a fleeting second, she allows herself to remember what it felt like to have those arms around her. How she ran her fingers over them as his hands circled her waist, fingers splayed across the curve of her ass.

Gendry’s brows push together in his sleep, pulling her out of her thoughts. She grows warm, her cheeks flushing like she’s been caught. Gendry’s eyebrows furrow deeper and she gets the unmistakable urge to reach forward and smooth out that small wrinkle between his eyes.

His eyes flicker open before she can do such a thing.

He blinks a few times, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He rubs his face with his palm for a moment before he grabs Arya’s elbow instinctively, looking up at her. Their eyes meet and Gendry blinks a few more times, his features melting into a soft smile before his eyes widen and he pulls away sharply.

“Sorry,” he mumbles quickly, voice thick with sleep. Arya chuckles, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

“‘S’alright,” she reassures, smiling softly at him. “You looked cute,” she blurts out. Maybe the late hour is getting to her too, because she’s pretty sure she would never admit to that under other circumstances. “Peaceful,” she amends, trying to sound a bit more casual. “Didn’t wanna wake you.”

Gendry smiles tentatively, almost grateful.

“Should’ve anyway,” he insists, voice still scratchy. “I bet your arm is asleep.”

“No worse than my leg,” she shrugs, nodding at Jon’s head in her lap. Her stomach gurgles loudly just then. Judging from the way Gendry stills, he definitely hears it. She looks at him sheepishly as he chuckles. “You got something to eat other than crisps and popcorn?”

“I can make you a cheese toastie,” Gendry offers.

Right on cue, her stomach grumbles again. “That’s a hard yes.”

He grins. “Stay here, I’ll be back in a bit.”

He pushes himself off the couch but Arya reaches for his hand on instinct, holding him in place before he can get too far away.

Gendry looks down at their clasped hands for a moment, before his gaze flickers back to hers.

“Wait for me,” she whispers, squeezing his fingers before she lets go.

He nods imperceptibly, watching as Arya holds Jon’s head delicately between her hands, wriggling from underneath it. Gendry grabs the nearest cushion and bunches it up, placing it under Jon’s head. Arya lets go of her cousin’s head when she’s satisfied, pushing herself off the couch with some difficulty.

Her leg hurts and she nearly tumbles forward if not for Gendry. His fingers wrap around her own, steadying.

She looks up at him and smiles, shaking her leg to get some blood flowing.

“You good to walk?”

Arya nods, tentatively taking a step forward. It still feels a little uncomfortable but she can manage it now. She drops Gendry’s hand, ignoring the tightening in her chest when she does so. Gendry shoots her a smile before he turns away and she follows him into the kitchen.

“I can make it myself,” she offers once they’re inside, eyes trained on his back as he opens the fridge.

He pulls away and closes the fridge door, moving to place the cheese and butter on the counter.

“Sit,” he instructs, completely ignoring her words and pointing at a small table and chair in the corner of the kitchen. “I make a really mean toastie so best leave it to the expert.” Arya smirks lightly, moving closer to him. She leans against the counter slowly, lifting one of her eyebrows in challenge as Gendry watches her. She places her hands on either side of her and lifts herself up onto the counter. Gendry’s lips pull up at the corners as he unwraps the cheese. “That’ll work too,” he mutters under his breath.

Her grin widens.

She watches him work silently for a few minutes, his brows knitted in concentration as he butters a few pieces of bread. 

When he looks at her again, his features melt into a softer expression. Her stomach does a somersault and she almost manages to convince herself it’s because she’s hungry. 

His eyes linger on her face for a few seconds before he flickers his gaze down to her arm.

“I like this,” he tells her, fingers reaching to trace the tattoo on her forearm.

Arya watches as he gently pads the old ink with his thumb.

Her heart hammers in her chest the second his fingers ghost over her skin. She wills it to slow down, trying to clear her head. She’s never been so affected by someone’s touch and she kind of hates and loves it in equal measure.

“Needle.” Gendry drops his hand, raising his eyes to look at her. His forehead creases lightly. “All the best swords have names,” she shrugs. “Or at least that’s what my brothers used to tell me.”

“Why a sword?”

“I always wanted to learn sword fighting.”

He looks amused. “Did you, then?”

He turns his attention back to the task at hand, layering the cheese on the bread.

“I took up fencing for a while,” she tells him, a smile playing on her lips. “Decided it was too posh for me so I went with boxing instead. And self-defence. And archery. Certified in the last two. Working on the first.”

She doesn’t miss the impressed look on his face, but she does try to ignore how much she likes it.

“Remind me to never mess with you,” he mutters under his breath.

Arya bares her teeth in a wide grin.

“Jon sketched this for me on my 16th birthday and convinced dad to let me get my first tattoo,” she continues after a moment, tracing the thin sword on the arm. “Robb took us to a parlour in Winterfell and the wankers insisted on holding my hands through it.”

She rolls her eyes, but she can’t mask the fondness she feels. It’s one of her favourite memories.

Gendry hums in amusement. “Did it hurt?”

“Just prickles.” She wants to say more but her gaze travels to his forearm and she narrows her eyes instead. “Why am I even telling you?” She nods her head in the general direction of his arms.

He beams, eyes almost twinkling.

“Well, if you ever want another one, I’ll make sure it won’t even prickle.” Her eyebrows shoot up. “I own a tattoo gun,” he shrugs the answer to her silent question, focusing back on the sandwich he’s making.

“You’re a tattoo artist?”

He winces. “Artist is a strong word.” He pauses, sucking some butter off his thumb before he moves to turn on the stove. “I own a tattoo gun,” he repeats, gaze flickering to her again, “and work at a shop a few blocks away.”

“But you did your own tattoos?”

She can’t even be bothered to hide how impressed she is.

“Just the ones in places I could reach.”

She reaches for his hand, pulling him closer and placing his arm into her lap.

“That one?” She asks, fingers hovering over the small wolf.

Gendry nods lightly, relaxing his arm against her and moving closer. She can feel his eyes on her as she traces the ink on his forearm. She can’t help but admire the delicate lines, the contrast between the lighter and darker parts, the details and precision of the drawing. It’s beautiful and if it wasn’t on his arm, she would want it to be on hers.

She glances back at his face and she’s a little shaken by how close he is now. Her perch on the counter makes them almost eye level, and if she leans forward only a little, she can kiss him.

She doesn’t.

She lets got of his arm instead, allowing him to get back to his work.

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” she promises after a moment. His lips curl up on one side. “I already know what I’m getting for my next tattoo and where I want it.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“I can have Jon sketch it for me,” she adds.

“I can do it,” he says casually. “I don’t use my Arts degree for much, but it comes in handy every once in a while.”

Arya’s eyebrows push together before it dawns on her. Sansa said she met Gendry at KLU. It makes sense for a Fashion major and an Arts major to have at least _some_ classes together.

Gendry turns his attention back to the stove, flipping the toasts in the pan.

Arya watches him work, biting on her lower lip as she wonders how much she can pry. She’s a little rattled by how much more she wants to know about him, but he doesn’t seem too bothered by their conversation so far.

 _Fuck it_ , she decides. _There’s nothing wrong with getting to know him better. Just as a friend_.

“So… Waters? Baratheon? Which is it?”

“Seaworth.” He laughs, clearly very amused with himself. Arya just frowns. “It’s not,” he reassures after a moment. “Well, Seaworth is Davos’ last name, my adoptive dad. But it’s not mine.”

Arya’s frown deepens. “Isn’t he the one who adopted Shireen when her parents died?”

She doesn’t remember much about the girl, just that she was Rickon’s friend and that she moved from Winterfell to Storm’s End when her parents passed away suddenly.

“He did,” Gendry confirms. “Shireen’s my sister.” He pauses for a moment. “Well, technically she’s my cousin, but Davos seems to like collecting stray Baratheons so she’s also kind of my sister,” he explains, waving the spatula in his hand back and forth.

Arya hums, trying to make sense of it all. “So you _are_ a Baratheon?”

“My dad was Robert Baratheon.” Arya’s brows knit together again. She seems to be doing a lot of that tonight, but in her defence, Gendry keeps springing these really fucked up revelations on her. She only met Robert when she was very little but she knows he was her father’s best friend once. And the man her aunt left at the altar. “By the look on your face, I take it you know who that was?”

Arya nods. “He and my father were close.” Better not bring up the whole Lyanna drama if he doesn’t. “Dad says I met him but I don’t remember much of it.”

“I only found out it was him years after he died,” Gendry shrugs. “My mum’s last name was Waters so that’s who I am. I was in foster homes for a long time, until Davos took me in. I don’t know how he knew I was a Baratheon, but he did. Just didn’t have any proof. He adopted me anyway, and it was only a few years ago that Renly found some long-forgotten will in which my dad apparently claims me. I had to legally change my last name to get the inheritance he left me so now I’ve got a gay uncle and a sister who’s actually my cousin and a bunch of half-siblings I knew nothing about.”

Arya doesn’t speak for a moment, not sure how to react. “That’s…”

He chuckles. “Wild?” She nods as she huffs lightly, relieved to be able to laugh about it. “Couldn’t make that shit up if I tried,” he mutters.

He looks a little bit bitter.

“You don’t like your life now?” 

His eyes flit back to her face just then. “It’s got its perks,” he acknowledges and her cheeks grow warm at the insinuation. “I’m grateful for Davos, if anything,” he adds after a moment, clearing his throat and flipping the toasts in the pan again. “But all I know of Baratheon men is that they make shit humans and poor Davos is left to clean up their messes.”

Arya watches him for a moment, memories swimming through her mind.

She’s not one to share too much, but for some reason, she wants to do that with him.

“When mum died,” she mumbles after a moment, her voice low, “my dad worked in King’s Landing. Robb and Jon were away at college and we had no one. My dad didn’t want to move us, but he had a contract and couldn’t go back to Winterfell before he was finished. So he had to move us there in the middle of the school year.”

“I didn’t know you lived in King’s Landing.”

She shakes her head.

“In the end, we didn’t have to move. Renly got in touch with my dad when he found out and offered his help. He moved up North with Loras and Brienne for a few months to stay with us.” Gendry frowns. “Sansa had a massive crush on Loras,” Arya adds, rolling her eyes. “I was only 14 and didn’t know much about Renly. Only that he was Robert’s brother.” She chews on her bottom lip. It’s hard for her to think about that time in her life. Of losing her mother and watching her father stretch himself thin to give them a good life. “He and dad weren’t even that close at the beginning. Renly’s nearly half his age. But he was there when no one else was, until dad could get his affairs sorted and properly move back home.” She pauses, fixing Gendry with a look. “Renly’s a Baratheon and he’s not a shit human.”

“He never told me that,” Gendry admits, looking down at the pan. “And I know he’s good. Should’ve said most Baratheon men are bad.”

“ _You’re_ a Baratheon,” she continues. She waits until his eyes meet hers again. “You’re _not_ a shit human.”

And she means it. She doesn’t know him that well, but the warmth he makes her feel is similar to the one she gets when she thinks of Jon, or Robb, or Sansa, or Theon. It’s the same goodness she sees in them.

His smile is sincere if a little surprised, like he doesn’t entirely believe her.

“Thanks.” He drops her gaze and grabs a plate, flipping the toasts onto it before he slices them diagonally. He places the plate next to her on the counter. Arya reaches for a piece, blowing on it before taking a small bite. She can’t stop herself from sighing happily as the cheese melts into her mouth. Gendry’s lips lift at the corners even as he chews, watching her closely. “I take it it’s good?”

She smirks mischievously. “Average.” Gendry barks a surprised laugh, nearly choking on his sandwich. She can’t help but chuckle along, tilting her head upwards to keep some strings of cheese from escaping her mouth. “I’d start making some more, if I were you.”

She doesn’t miss the amused look he sends her. “Yes m’lady.”

Arya can’t even bring herself to pretend to be upset as she watches Gendry shovel the rest of his toast into his mouth before he reaches for the cheese again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah,” Arya shrugs. “We’re friends.”
> 
> Theon nods wordlessly. It takes him another minute to speak.
> 
> “It might not be the worst thing if you guys weren’t friends, you know.”

For the most part, Arya doesn’t regret leaving Westeros when she was just 17. It was something she needed to do for herself, in order to get back to her family.

But on some days, it’s harder to remember why she did it. Especially when she realizes how different her family is, her brothers and sister and friends having gone through so much together that she wasn’t a part of.

On one particular morning, Arya is reminded of how much Sansa’s changed from the girl that she remembers.

She wakes up and walks into the living room to find her sister chilling on the couch with Gendry, her laughter echoing around the living room as Gendry tells her something Arya can’t hear.

She stands there for a few minutes, watching them with a small smile on her face. They don’t notice her at first, engrossed in whatever conversation they’re having. She’s acting a little bit like a creep, she knows, but she’s completely fascinated by Sansa, so different from the way she thinks of her sometimes.

Sansa is wearing an oversized jumper, striped cotton shorts and mismatched socks, glasses perched on her nose and hair a complete mess on her head, without a lick of makeup adorning her beautiful face. Her dark nail polish is a little chipped and Arya can see a small zit forming on her chin.

The Sansa she remembers wouldn’t have been caught dead dressed like that in front of anyone, especially not someone who looked like Gendry.

She wouldn’t have wasted her time on someone like Theon either, nor would she have been the one who always reminded Jon that it didn’t really matter what his birth records said, he’d always be her brother.

But she’s changed somewhere along the way and Arya feels a pang in her chest at not having been there to see her sister become this fierce, no-nonsense badass who somehow still allowed herself to wear her heart on her sleeve.

* * *

“Would you rather be lifelong mates with someone you like or shag them at least once even if it means ruining your friendship?”

Yara smacks her lips together as she takes a sip from her beer. She looks around the room from her spot on the floor.

Arya’s not sure whose idea it was to have a night in at their place, but before she could really ask, she had 20 or so people randomly dispersed around her house and it was too late to object. Not that she minded, really.

Meera’s gaze travels to Robb. She exhales loudly as she glares at him. “Shag ‘em once,” she shrugs. “Friendships are overrated.”

Theon nods exaggeratedly from his slump next to her. “Shag, obviously,” he agrees, waving a hand back and forth between him and Sansa for emphasis. “Look where it got me.”

Yara snorts.

“Aww, babe” Sansa coos, patting her boyfriend’s arm. “That was such a douchy thing to say,” she adds, her tone so at odds with her words. “But I’ll take it because I’m _that_ wasted.” Theon smiles dumbly. “Shag, for sure,” she tells them finally.

Arya smirks. She’s perched on the arm of the recliner, one of her elbows resting on Gendry’s shoulder next to her.

“Shag,” she echoes, taking a sip from her beer before she looks down at him.

He shrugs. “Don’t do lifelong friends. Shag,” he echoes.

Arya grins. “ _Do_ lifelong friends, then,” she teases and Gendry winces even as he laughs, reaching out blindly to palm her face.

She chuckles, swatting his hand away.

“Yeah, what she said,” he adds with a smile, pointing vaguely at her. He tilts his head and bumps it against her upper arm gently before he pulls away.

Arya’s still beaming when she notices the way Sansa pointedly raises her eyebrows at them. She rolls her eyes, taking a sip from her beer and turning away from her sister’s knowing looks.

It doesn’t matter how many times Arya tells Sansa she and Gendry are just friends, her sister still somehow manages to treat every little one of their interactions as incriminating evidence that they’re not. Or at least that they shouldn’t be.

She glances at her brother to distract herself. “Robb?”

Robb tears his eyes away from Meera with some difficulty.

“Pfft, shag shag shag,” he mutters. “Do none of you lot care about mates?”

He scoffs for good measure but Arya can see the tips of his ears turning red already. Her brother’s really is the most endearingly dramatic dumbass she knows.

“Not really,” she mumbles at the same time as the rest of their odd group give out various versions of that same answer.

Robb scoffs again, pushing himself off the floor. “This is a stupid game and you’re all barbaric.”

Meera raises her eyebrows as she watches him stumble out of the room while Yara just cackles loudly, raising her beer and yelling out “cheers to that.”

Robb might be acting like a complete idiot, Arya decides, but he does have a point. This game is getting old.

She glances over her shoulder towards the balcony and notices Jon and Brienne having a chat.

She turns her attention back to Gendry, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “Smoke?”

He looks up at her, cheeks flushed from the alcohol and eyes almost dark blue in this light. He shoots her a sleepy smile and nods before shoving her off the armrest like the damn brute he actually is.

“Gen, Brienne was just telling me Renly and Loras wanna go with us to Grey’s gig next week,” Jon says as soon as he spots them.

Gendry nods as he lights Arya’s cigarette and then his own. “Yeah, I know Renly told me this morning.” He leans against the railing next to Brienne, eyes trained on Arya. “You’re coming with, right?”

It’s as casual as questions go, but Arya still feels herself grow a little warm. He wants her there.

“I have to check if Meera’s okay to cover both Missandei and I.”

She’s already asked Meera. Meera’s already told her she’ll be more than fine on her own.

“It’s on a Monday,” Brienne shrugs. “She won’t have any trouble. Pod has a shift that night anyway, so he can help behind the bar if she needs it.”

Jon smirks at Brienne, blowing out a sheet of smoke before speaking.

“And Lannister?”

“What _about_ Jaime?” She asks defensively, her attempt at sounding casual dying a most phenomenal death with the way her throat catches when she says his name. Jon raises his eyebrows as Arya bites the inside of her cheek to hide a smirk. Brienne rolls her eyes. “He’ll be at the gig,” she relents, trying to keep her smile under control.

Jon snorts.

* * *

Arya hears Theon’s string of curses even before she steps into the house.

“I can’t believe you wankers have been at it all morning,” she grumbles, toeing her shoes off once she’s inside and making her way over to where he and Gendry are battling it out on the couch.

Gendry’s face lights up in a smile even though he doesn’t turn away from the television, while Theon barely nods in acknowledgement, still cursing under his breath.

She plops down next to Gendry, ruffling his hair obnoxiously and purposefully trying to block his view. Gendry only chuckles loudly, trying to elbow her away while still playing.

Theon finally stops grouching to grin wildly. “Yes Arya!” He yells out, violently crushing his fingers against the controller. “Distract the shit out of him so I can annihilate his ass.”

Gendry laughs even as he squirms, trying to fight her off. “Not a bloody chance, Greyjoy.”

Arya moves her hand to pat and prod at Gendry’s face and he eventually gives up and allows her to press her entire palm across his face. Arya smiles victoriously before she realizes Gendry is actually peeking through her fingers, so she brings her fingers together until his eyes are firmly covered by her hand. Gendry growls suddenly and bites down on her little finger.

“Ouch!” She pulls her hand away and cradles it in her lap. It really doesn’t hurt at all and she’s really being hella dramatic, but Gendry apologizes anyway, even as he’s laughing. “You’re a savage.”

“A savage who just won!”

He punches the air dramatically before throwing the controller to the side.

Theon huffs, tossing his controller at Gendry. “That was pure fucking luck, you bastard!” He misses entirely, the controller landing in Arya’s lap instead.

“Don’t matter,” Gendry says flatly. “Still won.”

“Still won my ass,” Theon grumbles.

“Pretty sure Sansa would have a thing or two to say about that,” Arya points out, pulling her legs up and crossing them on the couch.

Gendry laughs, turning to look at her. “Hey,” he mumbles, face melting into a soft look. He motions at her hand in her lap. “Sorry ‘bout that.” She’s too distracted by the way he’s looking at her to do anything but smile back, and it’s only when Gendry looks behind her and his eyes widen that the spell’s broken. “Is that the time? Fuck!”

He nearly tumbles off the couch in his haste to get up, grabbing his keys, phone and wallet off the coffee table.

“Where’re you going?” Theon protests. “We have to have a rematch!”

“Covering for Anguy at the shop. I have ten minutes to get there or The Hound will have my head.” He hurries off towards the door, bending forward to pull his boots on. “Arya’ll give you my rematch, I know she’ll whoop your ass in three moves.” Arya’s lips pull up at one corner while Theon just rolls his eyes. “I’ll see you at the concert tonight, yeah?”

He’s talking to both of them but his eyes don’t leave Arya’s face. He looks almost apologetic for not being able to stay longer.

“Go,” she finally urges, smiling gently at him. “Tell Sandor if he touches your pretty little head I will feed him to Nymeria.”

Gendry chuckles. “Will do.”

He waves at them and disappears out the door.

She stares after him for a long moment, only snapping out of it when Theon clears his throat next to her. She turns to find him looking at her with a knowing smirk, one that she’s very much tempted to smack off his face.

She lifts one eyebrow at him, reaching for the controller. “Ready to get your ass handed to you?”

Theon nods lightly, grabbing the other controller. Arya starts a new game, but she can feel Theon still looking at her from her peripheral vision.

“Things are better with you two then?”

He’s trying to sound casual. He’s failing monumentally at it.

Arya thinks about pretending not to understand what he’s talking about, but then she decides against it. Theon clearly has something to say, so she might as well humour him.

“Yeah,” she shrugs. “We’re friends.”

Theon nods wordlessly. It takes him another minute to speak.

“It might not be the worst thing if you guys weren’t friends, you know.”

Arya swallows thickly. Though it’s not coming out exactly right, she knows what he’s trying to tell her. The truth is, she’s thought about it more and more, recently. She and Gendry have grown closer than she ever expected in such a short amount of time. So much so that she often wonders if she’ll ever be able to think of her life without him in it again. She also often wonders what her reaction would be if he actually started seeing someone.

She doesn’t think she can admit that to Theon, though. She’s not sure he’d understand. So she sticks to playing the dumb game for now.

“You want me to stop talking to him, then?”

Theon’s lips curl up in a smirk. She feels him turn to look at her for a second.

“If you weren’t _just_ friends,” he amends, humouring her.

Arya smiles.

Even though they’ve always been as emotionally shut off one as the other, she and Theon have somehow found their footing over the years. It was a lot different when they were kids. Their fucked up defence mechanisms meant that they were always antagonizing each other and butting heads, often resulting in the exchange of heated words that they always came to regret. But as they grew older, they found that they had more in common than they thought. That they actually _understood_ each other.

They’re just not very good with words, so it’s always a little bit like this. Short. Clipped. Back and forth until one of them makes the irrefutable point they’re snail-pacing to.

She sighs. “It’s complicated, Theon.”

“Why?”

He throws his controller to the side, letting go of any pretense that either of them is actually paying attention to the game. Arya does the same, closing her eyes as she turns to face him on the sofa.

“Because I don’t know if I want that with him,” she admits. “Or with anyone.”

It’s not exactly a lie. She cares about Gendry a disproportionate amount and it scares the shit out of her. But she still doesn’t know if it’s enough to make her want to put herself in that vulnerable position again. So she keeps telling herself that she has to keep her figurative armour on because it’s much easier than acknowledging that Gendry is slowly but surely breaking down every one of her defences.

“I understand that more than you know,” Theon admits, dragging her out of her thoughts. “All I’m saying is he’s a good guy, Arya.” _You think I don’t know that?_ “He actually helped me figure my shit out before Sansa and I got together,” he adds before she can voice her thoughts.

Her brows push together. “He did?”

Theon nods as he scratches his jaw. It’s his tell, Arya knows. He’s not really comfortable having his conversation and she almost feels bad for making him say whatever he’s about to. But she’s too curious to stop him.

“Mya and Yara were already broken up and he and Sansa were much closer than we were so he really had every excuse not to be there for me. But when things got difficult with Robb and Jon was up North, Gendry was there.” His eyes meet hers. “He kept me from going off the rails. Helped me see how stupid I would be to give up on Sansa just because I was worried about how Robb would take it.”

Arya’s forehead creases. She and Theon have never really talked about what happened when he and Sansa first got together. Arya knows from Sansa that when she first told him that she wanted to be with him, he freaked out and ran off to Pyke even though he had always been in love with her. Eventually, he got his shit together and came back to King’s Landing and grovelled and begged until he earned Sansa’s trust back.

But Arya never knew how big a part Gendry played in that. Maybe Sansa didn’t know either.

“That _was_ stupid,” she shrugs, trying to lighten the mood.

Theon snorts. “I know, your sister gave me a bloody long speech about my patronizing ass and how Robb should’ve never been a factor and all that.” He pauses for a moment, his mask slipping and his eyes earnest as he looks at her. “Truth is I didn’t think I was good enough for her and the Robb excuse was just easier deal with,” he confesses, tapping his fingers against his temple. Arya’s heart squeezes in her chest. She hates how Theon is the only one who can’t see how great he actually is. She hates how his father made him that way. His face shuts off again, and he straightens in his seat. “Point is, Gendry won’t hurt you.”

She mulls it over, biting on her lower lip.

“I know,” she admits eventually. When she looks up at Theon, he still looks like he has more to say. “What?”

“I don’t want to see him hurt, either.”

“And you think I’ll hurt him?”

She’s more defensive than she wants to be. It’s hard to say she hasn’t thought about this before, but having someone else acknowledge it makes it somehow worse.

“Not intentionally.”

“So what would you have me do?”

There’s no judgement or anger in Theon’s eyes they meet hers.

“I don’t know, Arya,” he tells her, grabbing the controller again. “You and Gendry, that’s not my business.” Arya snorts. “I’m just trying to watch out for you both,” he adds after a moment.

That’s her way out of this conversation if there ever was one. Her features soften into a fond smile as she turns her attention back to the television.

“Hey Theon?” His gaze flickers to her, a small v appearing between his brows. “You’re good too,” she tells him. “I’m glad Sansa has you.”

Theon smiles.

* * *

“Arry!”

Arya barely has time to turn before she’s scooped up in a big, tight hug. She shrieks in surprise, her legs dangling in the air for a long moment.

“Hey Hot Pie,” she greets with a laugh once she realizes it’s him, wrapping her short arms around him.

She notices Gendry standing next to them, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes making an appearance. Her grin widens when her gaze finds his, an unmistakable urge to reach out and touch him nearly taking over her. She stops herself from doing just that, shrugging in amusement when his mouth lifts on one side.

Hot Pie finally places her back on the ground, smile wide as he looks at her. He eagerly grabs her arm and shoves a tiny little cheese roll into her palm.

“I got you this. I know they’re your favourites,” he tells her excitedly, eyes lighting up. “I wanted to get you more but we had a big order come in today.”

Arya smiles, feeling a sudden overwhelming affection for her friend.

“Thanks, Hot Pie.” She wastes no time in shovelling the roll into her mouth, humming in pleasure when the flaky dough breaks and melts on her tongue. “It’th tho good,” she groans.

Hot Pie grins and Gendry raises his eyebrows in sheer delight.

“I got one for Brienne too, have you seen her?”

“Stage right with Jon and Jaime,” she tells him, vaguely pointing behind her.

“You coming then?” He’s already backing out in that direction.

“Missandei’s getting drinks, but we’ll be right behind you.”

Hot Pie nods, shooting her one last smile before he disappears in the throng of people.

Gendry’s still looking at her in amusement when she turns back to him.

She crosses her arms in front of her, shooting up one eyebrow. “I take it Sandor didn’t murder you.”

He steps forward, forcing Arya to crane her neck to properly look at him. She forgets how tall he is sometimes.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Barked about a little. But then Beric came in and wanted to start on that mess of a flaming sword he wants tattooed on his back so he figured he actually needed me alive.”

He’s got a tiny fleck of ink on his left cheek.

She smirks up at him, reaching out to wipe it off. “That’s good.” Gendry flinches for a second before he stills under her touch. Her hand lingers on his face longer than necessary before she pulls away. She clears her throat. “I like you alive.”

Gendry rubs the back of his neck, eyes soft and cheeks flushed as he looks away. He fishes his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, holding it up in a silent question. Arya nods before turning her attention to the bar, waving about as she tries to catch Missandei’s attention. When she does, she holds up the pack for Missandei to see and points at the general direction of the entrance.

Missandei holds her thumbs up.

Gendry offers her a cigarette as soon as they’re outside. She fishes her lighter out of her pocket.

“So, why does Hot Pie call you Arry again?”

She leans against the wall as she exhales, watching as Gendry settles against the brick next to her.

“Thought I was a boy when we first met.”

Gendry’s brows furrow. “You?” His voice is laced with disbelief. “A boy?”

“I had really short hair when I was little,” Arya shrugs. “Also I might’ve told him I was a boy because I wanted to play football with him and his friends and they were being wankers about it.”

Gendry snorts incredulously. “And the dumbass actually bought it?”

“In his defence, I _looked_ like a boy.”

“A very attractive boy.” His eyes widen as he realizes what he said, cheeks flushing an alarming shade of purple. He stammers for a moment but Arya only laughs. “I just meant…” he trails off. “Yeah, no, there’s no way to save that one.”

She shakes her head, unable to keep the shit-eating grin off her face. “There really isn’t.”

“I have a hard time believing anyone could ever mistake you for a boy, is what I’m trying to say,” he tries anyway.

Arya nods exaggeratedly. “Uh huh.”

“Oh piss off,” Gendry waves her off but he laughs again. “Hot Pie wasn’t always the sharpest tool in the shed anyway,” he adds.

“Hey!” She objects, elbowing him in the ribs lightly, He jumps out of reach, fingers grazing her arm has he tries to keep away. “That’s my friend you’re talking about.”

“He’s my friend too,” Gendry protests, but he beams down at her anyway. “Has a good heart,” he adds. “First time we met he was defending Grey Worm from some bullies.”

Arya frowns. “Grey’s name is Grey Worm?”

“Not the point of the story,” Gendry points out. “But yes. Well, no,” he amends. “Not really.” He pauses, taking another puff. “His name is Grey, yes, and he was a really scrawny kid when were little. Stick thin and gangly. This tosser, Craster, kept calling him Grey Worm.” 

“Like Craster’s such a good name,” Arya mutters, a surge of anger suddenly taking over. She’s always hated bullies. Her own school bully ended up abusing her sister.

Gendry snorts before his eyes grow serious. “When they moved me to that home, it took me a while to talk to any of them. I was rather broody, you see.”

“I like how you think you’re not broody anymore,” she deadpans.

Gendry grins, bumping their shoulders together.

“First time I talked to Grey and Hot Pie,” he continues when he settles, “Craster was giving them shit. I was big for my age. Very angry. All it took was one shove for him to run with his tail between his legs. Couldn’t shake those two after that.” His face melts into an affectionate smile. “Hot Pie kept calling him Grey Worm. Told him to wear it like armour like he did with Hot Pie. He was slightly philosophical, that one.”

Arya’s smile grows. She didn’t think she could love Hot Pie any more. She was wrong. 

“Are you telling me he wasn’t always Hot Pie?”

Gendry grins. “Apparently not. But I actually don’t know what his real name is. He’s always been…”

“Hot Pie,” she finishes for him. She looks up at him curiously. “Did you have a nickname?”

Gendry winces before he nods. “Not a very good one.” Arya waits patiently for him to continue. “Bull. I charged first, asked questions later.”

She scoffs. “Yeah, definitely glad you got rid of that,” she teases.

Gendry barks a laugh just as Missandei comes out the front entrance, teeth bared in a smile when she spots them. He pushes himself off the wall to wrap his arms around her in a warm hug. When they pull back, Missandei hands them each a drink. Gendry’s brow creases.

“Saw you with Arya and figured you’d want one,” she answers his silent question.

“Awfully considerate of you.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she warns. Gendry snickers. “Grey’s on in ten.”

“Let’s go.”

* * *

As soon as Grey takes the stage, they’re all cheering and screaming and dancing front and centre, even that twat Jaime Lannister. 

Grey is completely transformed on stage, the shy man Arya knows overflowing with an energy so infectious that the entire crowd is transfixed by his set. Even the other artists and people who are only there to watch other singers perform join the mayhem.

Arya spends the night jumping around with Sansa and singing along to every song with Jon and Gendry, laughing loudly when Hot Pie props Missandei over his shoulders and continues to dance wildly and sing nearly half the lyrics wrong.

Arya can’t remember the last time she had that much fun.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn’t show up one morning and she spends her entire boxing class with her stomach up in knots, nerves getting the better of her.
> 
> She thinks about texting himself halfway through her lesson. She doesn’t.

The next morning is decidedly less fun.

After her morning classes, Arya spends the better part of the day lounging around the living room with an equally hungover Sansa and Theon, nursing their respective headaches and teetering ever so precariously between insatiably famished and never-want-to-see-food-ever-again.

At some point in the afternoon, she remembers her plans for the next day. She sighs before she turns to her sister.

“Sans, I’m giving my first official boxing class tomorrow morning,” she tells her sister.

Sansa cocks an eyebrow. “That’s awesome,” she mutters, too tired to do anything but smile lazily, but Arya can see the pride in her expression.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, smiling too. “But that’s not why I’m telling you,” She adds after a moment. “I haven’t been good at waking up early lately. Not even when I set up multiple alarms,” she groans. “I need you to make sure I’m up before you leave the house in the morning. Otherwise I might fall back asleep and fuck things up.”

“Okay, but I can’t stay past a quarter to eight. You gotta be up by then or you’re on your own.”

“That’s perfect,” Arya tells her. “Just don’t forget to wake me up.”

* * *

Sansa forgets to wake her up.

At the end, it’s Gendry who spends a good 10 minutes knocking on her front door at 8 in the morning, until she can’t ignore the banging anymore and has to drag herself out of bed to give whoever’s at the door a piece of her mind.

She opens the door to find him standing there, an amused smile growing on his face when he takes in her appearance. His eyes are bright and his hair is infuriatingly on point, a sharp contrast to the mess of tangled hair and pillow creases she must look like.

It’s _way_ too early for him to look this positively put together.

“Can I help you?”

Her voice is hoarse and barely audible as she blinks to keep her eyes open. She groans when it doesn’t work, leaving the front door open and making her way back to her bedroom to throw herself back on the bed. She hears the front door closing followed by the sound of heavy footsteps.

“Sansa called me in panic and said I have to wake you up.”

She raises her eyebrows at him. Or maybe she doesn’t. Her face is planted in the mattress anyway and it takes way too much energy to do anything but lie completely still at the moment. She’d like to think that if she wasn’t in a near-vegetative state, she would’ve raised her brows because what the fuck.

“Why?”

“Because she forgot to wake you up and supposedly you asked her to?”

_Right. Boxing._

His voice is kind of far away and when she lifts her head to look at him, he’s standing in the doorway.

“Why are you standing there like an idiot?”

“I don’t know maybe you’re one of those people who aren’t big on people seeing their bedrooms,” he shrugs.

This time, she does roll her eyes.

“You can see my bedroom just fine from where you are,” she points out. “Just come in, stop making it weird.”

He walks into her room, a small smile on his face as he sits down at the edge of her bed, his thigh coming to rest next to her socked foot.

“That still doesn’t change the fact that you need to get up,” he tells her after a moment, wrapping a hand around her ankle and squeezing lightly.

“But whyyy?” She whines, straightening up a little to look at him. His grip on her leg loosens a bit, but he doesn’t let go as he half-turns to look at her. “How about I just lure you into bed instead?” She winces as the words leave her mouth, realizing exactly what she’s implying. Gendry’s ears turn pink and she can feel her own cheeks flush, heat travelling up her neck. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Okay so maybe she meant it a little bit like that. Thankfully, Gendry has more sense than she does.

“Tempting as that sounds, I gotta meet up with Davos in a bit and you have something to do, I believe.” He tugs at her ankle again. “Come on, I’ll make you coffee while you get dressed.”

She finally sits up in bed, letting the sheets pool around her. She looks at him from under her lashes, biting on her lower lip.

“I’m a little nervous,” she admits. His brows furrow. “Teaching my first boxing class today,” she explains.

He looks genuinely happy for her when he speaks. “That’s awesome.” His squeezes her ankle again. “Hey, it’s completely normal to be nervous. But you’re gonna do great,” he shrugs. “If there’s one person I trust to teach me different techniques to beat up other people, it’s you.”

She barks a surprised laugh. She kind of wants to reach out and touch him or squeeze his hand or wrap her arms around him but she won’t. She’s already tempting fate as it is, what with him half in her bed.

“Thanks, I think,” she says instead.

Hi gaze lingers on hers. He looks like he wants to say something else or do something and for a wild second she wonders if he wants to reach for her too. He clears his throat after a minute, pushing himself off the bed.

“I’ll get on the coffee, then.”

She nods, her stomach twisting with something other than nerves as she watches him walk away.

* * *

It becomes sort of a routine.

Twice a week, when she has to wake up early for boxing, Gendry will barge into her flat in the morning, luring her out of bed with coffee and bagels and muffins and pancakes and whatever else he can find within a two-block-radius at 7:30 in the morning.

What she doesn’t tell him is that by the third week, her body’s already adjusted to the pattern and she starts waking up on her own even before he shows up, her stomach rioting in excitement as she waits for him to tempt her of out of bed with breakfast and caffeine.

* * *

He doesn’t show up one morning and she spends her entire boxing class with her stomach up in knots, nerves getting the better of her.

She thinks about texting himself halfway through her lesson. She doesn’t.

Instead, she makes her way back home as soon as she’s done showering at the gym, only stopping by her apartment to drop off her bag before she runs up straight to Gendry’s.

Her eyes are accusatory when he opens the door.

“You didn’t wake me up this morning.”

Gendry’s brow creases slightly in surprise when he sees her. She must look like a lunatic, nearly out of breath, damp hair sticking to her forehead.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, moving out of the doorway to let her in. “Were you late for class?” He asks, confused. “Ran into Sansa on her way to work this morning and she said you were already awake.”

“Yeah- I mean, no,” she stammers. “I wasn’t late,” she clarifies. “I just...” she trails off, wondering how exactly she can explain the discomfort that settled in her stomach the entire morning. “I guess I got used to it,” she admits.

Gendry stares at her for a moment, a small, surprised smile colouring his features.

She clears her throat, trying to shake off his looks.

“Sorry,” he mumbles again, “Davos decided to meet me here instead of Renly’s and I guess, well... I didn’t think you’d care.”

He gestures vaguely in the direction of the living room and Arya finally registers the faint sound of the television.

“I don’t,” she tells him immediately. She winces, hating how her defence mechanism always gets the better of her. “I mean...Fuck. I do,” she allows. “I just, I thought maybe something had happened to you, or...”

As if on cue, a gruff voice comes wading through the living room.

“Everything alright, lad?”

“Yeah,” Gendry yells back. “Just a friend.”

Arya doesn’t dwell on the way her heart plummets at the word “friend”. That’s what they are. That’s what _she_ wanted.

“Sorry,” she manages eventually, blinking up at him a few times, “I didn’t mean to just barge in like that. I’ll leave you guys to-“

“No,” Gendry interrupts, reaching for her arm and wrapping his fingers around her wrist. She looks down at their joined hands for a moment. “I mean, you don’t have to go.” He lets go of her arm and her eyes flicker back to his. “Do you wanna meet him?”

“Sure,” she agrees, surprising even herself. Meeting her friends’ parents was never something she particularly liked to do.

Gendry motions towards the living room.

“Come on, then.” He turns and walks away, Arya trailing him.

“Ah, there you are,” the old man on his couch grunts when he sees him coming in. “Your bloody remote is broken.” He looks up, his eyes meeting Arya’s. “Oh.”

He stands up abruptly, nervously wiping his hands on his pants.

“Davos, this is Arya,” Gendry introduces, smiling.

“Ah, yes, Ned’s daughter,” Davos says, nodding. “I’ve heard a fair bit about you, young lady.”

Arya raises her eyebrows at Gendry, smirking lightly. He smiles sheepishly, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Davos looks a lot different than she expects. Though she can tell he’s older than her father, there’s something quite youthful about him, his eyes twinkling with something akin to mischief.

“It’s nice to meet you...” she trails off, unsure what to call him. Her eyes dart between Gendry and the man, silently asking for help.

“Davos,” the man supplies, smiling kindly. “No one has called me anything but Davos since I was a wee kid. Not even my own children.”

Arya grins widely, very much amused by the way he speaks. It reminds her of the people back at home.

“Davos,” she tests out the name on her lips. She realizes he referred to her as Ned’s daughter a moment ago. “You know my father?”

Davos nods.

“Fine man,” he tells her. “Met him through Robert. Only saw him a couple of times over the years, but t’was enough to know he’s a got a good head on his shoulders and an even better heart.”

An unexpected surge of warmth rushes through her. She misses her father more than she thought possible.

“He does,” she agrees, voice thick with emotion.

“You got plans for lunch?” Gendry asks her after a moment. Arya’s attention turns to him. “Shireen gets out of school in an hour. We were gonna pick her up and grab something to eat together.”

Arya is a little unsettled by how much she wants to go with them. How much she wants to spend time with Gendry and his family, see what he is like around his father and sister.

“It’s alright,” she mumbles instead in a small voice. “I’m sure you guys would rather spend time alone.”

Gendry opens his mouth to speak but Davos beats him to it.

“Nonsense,” he dismisses, wringing his hands together. “You should absolutely come. Shireen would love to have another girl with us for once - it’ll give her someone to talk to while Gendry and I argue for 45 minutes straight.” Arya’s lips curl up, her eyebrows furrowing in question. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to find the loo.”

Arya turns her attention to Gendry as soon as Davos is out of the room, the silent question still clear on her face.

“He wants me to live in my father’s house,” Gendry explains, shrugging. “My house now, I suppose. Left it to me in his will. I want to stay here.”

“Why don’t you want to live in your dad’s house?”

Gendry plops down on the couch and Arya slumps down next to him. His eyebrows furrow as he bites his lower lip thoughtfully. Arya scoots closer, nudging him with her shoulder gently.

“‘S’too big,” he admits. “Doesn’t feel like it should be mine.” He pauses. “I like it here,” he adds, eyes flitting over to hers for a second before he looks at his hands in his lap. “Take your pick.”

“Can’t you, like, sell it or something?”

“I want Shireen to have it,” Gendry admits. “The house has belonged to Baratheons since, like, the Dark Ages or something. Renly and Loras are moving to Highgarden soon so they don’t want it. Mya, Bella and Edric have zero interest in living there.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking at her from under his lashes. He lowers his voice. “If I give it to Shireen, Davos can live there too. The house Shireen and I grew up in is too small. I want him to have a real place where he can grow old.”

Arya feels another surge of warmth travel through her body. Gendry’s love for his adoptive father radiates so blatantly whenever he talks about him.

“Can’t he move in with you if you move there?”

He shakes his head.

“He wouldn’t.” He sighs. “He wants me to have my space and doesn’t want to intrude. He wants the same for Shireen, but she can talk him into things better than I can. She has more patience. And she and I have already discussed it - she likes living with him and has no immediate plans of moving out of Storm’s End since she’s going to uni here next year.”

Arya blinks a few times, trying to understand what she’s missing. “So what’s the problem then?”

“Shireen isn’t legally an adult yet, so I can’t sign the deed over to her without her legal guardian,” Gendry explains. “We’re just waiting a couple more months until she’s officially 18 and we can do it without Davos. Once it’s settled, he won’t have a choice but to accept it. Until then, I keep trying to find new excuses to stall. He just insists on bringing it up every time we’re together.” Arya hears the tell-tale hum of a toilet being flushed followed by the patter of footsteps approaching. She’s suddenly aware of exactly how close she and Gendry are sitting so she straightens up, putting some distance between them. Gendry clears his throat. “It’ll be a nice change if you’re there,” he tells her a little too loudly. “And anyway, we’re going to that chip shop that you like so much. The one ‘round the corner from the pub.”

“Is that the one with the good kebabs?” Davos asks as he comes back into view.

Gendry nods. “The one Shireen likes.”

Arya looks between the two men. She still feels like she might be intruding.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be alone?”

“Absolutely not, lass,” Davos tells her. “I haven’t seen Ned in a long time, so it’ll be nice to hear some of his news.”

Arya smiles, nodding at the old man.

She can feel Gendry smiling too from the corner of her eyes. It makes her stomach flip.

* * *

Arya absolutely loves Shireen. She reminds her of Sansa, in a way, quiet and strong and so sure of herself.

She remembers Shireen vaguely from when she used to come around to their place when she was very little, but she’s surprised at how beautiful she’s grown to become, the scars covering half her face almost ethereal against her pale complexion and blue eyes. Eyes that look so much like Gendry’s.

It doesn’t hurt that they spend nearly the entire time discussing Rickon, much to Gendry’s amusement. Davos is clearly a lot less excited at the idea of his daughter being so clearly infatuated with the Stark boy, especially when he finds out that Rickon fully plans on moving to Storm’s End when he graduates at the end of the school year.

“At least we know you two are Baratheons through and through,” the old man mutters at one point.

Gendry’s forehead creases. “Hm?”

Davos shoves another chip in his mouth. “Having a thing for a Stark is a family trait at this point. No offense, lass,” he adds, shooting Arya a look.

“Dad!” Shireen yells out, eyes widening in clear embarrassment.

Gendry flushes an alarming shade of red.

Arya laughs openly.

* * *

“If you wanna back out now’s the time.”

Arya looks down at Gendry, her lips curling up in one corner. He’s got his tattoo machine ready, hand hovering over her waist.

She shakes her head.

“Not changing my mind,” she reassures, eyes trained on his.

Gendry nods lightly, a small smile gracing his lips before he turns his attention to Arya’s stomach.

Gendry and Sandor had insisted they use the parlour’s private back room. Arya didn’t really think it was necessary. It’s not like she was going to be naked, her shirt low enough that only the lower curve of her breast was visible, her pants resting just below her hipbone.

But now, the way Gendry’s fingers are gently ghosting her skin feels almost intimate and she’s suddenly grateful they had insisted on giving her the privacy she didn’t think she needed.

“Okay, well, the ribcage and sternum are very sensitive areas so this will probably hurt a fair bit,” he warns her gently. Arya nods. “If the pain gets too much to handle, just tell me and I’ll ease up. Or we can even stop if it gets too uncomfortable and schedule another session.”

“Thought you said if you give me a tattoo it won’t even prickle,” Arya teases, taking a deep breath and getting ready.

Gendry’s lips pull up on one side as he looks at her from under his lashes, before he turns his attention to her stomach. She hears the tell-tale whirring of the tattoo gun vibrating and suddenly she feels the needle start tickling her waist.

She breathes deeply, trying to distract herself from the sound and feel of the needle burying itself into her skin over and over again.

As if sensing her unease, Gendry starts speaking. “So,” he pulls away and wipes some of the excess ink with a tissue he’s holding before he sets to work again, “why a tree with red leaves?” He’s so close Arya can feel his breath ghosting hover her bare skin. “You don’t have to answer,” he adds after a moment, like it just occurred to him that it might have a personal significance.

“No, it’s okay,” she reassures. She really needs a distraction and the least she can do is explain to him what the bloody hell he’s actually tattooing. “It’s a heart tree.”

“Fancy name. Doesn’t clear shit up,” he mutters.

Arya rolls her eyes. “They’re these huge trees. Native to the north,” she explains. “We’ve got a really big one right outside our place in Winterfell.”

“And do they always have faces?” He asks, clearly amused as his eyes flicker to the sketch he drew with her help.

“They do if me and Bran have any say in it,” she shrugs. “We just decided it would look better with a face one day and tried to carve one out but it turns out we’re really bad at it and now it just looks like the tree is crying all the fucking time.” She pauses, smiling. “At least it’s unique.”

Gendry chuckles lightly. “Ah yes, it really needed to stand out from all the other super common red-leaved trees with white trunks.”

Arya rolls her eyes as she smirks down at him. He can be so infuriating sometimes, but gods help her, she _likes_ that about him. She likes _him_. Besides, even if she didn’t, he’s currently got a very sharp needle digging right under her right tit, so it’s better for everyone involved if she doesn’t provoke him.

Gendry pulls away from her stomach again, cleaning up the excess ink. His eyes flicker to hers for a second. “Pain?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” she reassures him.

He smiles before he leans over to continue the tattoo. She watches him work for a few minutes, smiling at the way his eyes narrow in concentration. His fingers are deft against her skin, his touch lighter than she expects. She’s never seen Gendry quite in his element like that. As if sensing her eyes on him, his gaze turns to her for a second, eyebrows shooting up.

“What?”

She shakes her head, only smiling at him. His brow furrows lightly before he gets back to work, but she can see the small grin playing on his lips anyway.

“It reminds me of home,” she tells him after a moment. “The tree,” she clarifies. She wants to tell him more. She’s not sure why, but she does. For the first time, she allows herself to. “When I lived in Braavos, I nearly lost myself.”

Gendry’s brows draw closer together, the only sign that he’s listening. She doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, trying not to let the memories of her time there overwhelm her. Eventually, Gendry’s curiosity gets the better of him, and he chances a glance up at her.

“Is that where you got these?” He asks hoarsely, swallowing thickly as his thumb trails one of Arya’s twin scars on her stomach. She shivers slightly under his touch, even though her entire body feels warm.

She nods ever-so-lightly.

“When I was in Braavos, I met this guy,” she tells him. “Jaqen.” She wonders if she imagines the way his lips set into a thin line. “I thought he was the most brilliant person I’d ever met. He was older than I was by quite a few years. He was mysterious and smart and beautiful.”

She swallows thickly. It’s the first time she’s ever let herself remember Jaqen in so much detail.

“Careful there,” Gendry mutters, voice rough. “Keep it up and I might have to go find this Jaqen for myself.”

Arya grins, still a little lost in her thoughts.

“He was the greatest thing I’d ever met until he wasn’t,” she continues after a moment. “I found out he was a part of this weird cult who worshipped a death god or whatever. And he wanted _me_ to join them. And I was young and angry and impressionable and hurt, so I thought that made me special, and for a little while, I tried. I showed up to their meetings and gave out their flyers. I willingly lost myself to this person who didn’t know about me, stayed in this fucked up world I didn’t understand, where I could forget what I went through.”

Aside from that brief conversation she had with Sansa months ago, she’s never really told anyone about her time with Jaqen. But something about Gendry makes her feel safe enough to share. Makes her _want_ to tell him about all the places she’s been.

“So what changed?” He asks in a low voice.

“I don’t know,” she admits. Up until this day, she doesn’t know what it was that kept her from losing herself entirely in the game of faces Jaqen dragged her into. “No matter how many times he told me I was home, it didn’t register. I didn’t know where home was, but every time I thought about it, I’d get these flashes. Bright ginger hair. Curls. Grey eyes. Red leaves.”

Gendry smiles. “Your family.”

She nods.

“I wasn’t sure what it was,” she confesses, “just that it was pulling me away. And then I saw the hall of faces and knew I had to get out of there.”

Gendry swallows audibly, paling. “I’m sorry, did you say the hall of faces?”

She chuckles lightly at his alarmed expression. “That’s a story for another time,” she shrugs. “Point is, I got out after that. Moved to the other side of the city and met a girl. Freya.” She shivers, this time nothing to do with Gendry’s touch. He clearly notices, looking up at her. In her own fucking twisted way, she knows Freya cared for her. “The Waif, her friends called her. She was there and it was easy. We would get pissed all day and fuck late into the night. It was like a 24/7 high. The worst kind.” He blinks in understanding. “And then one night she was driving us back to her place. We were pissed blind and we crashed into the side of a bridge.”

She swallows thickly, her voice hoarse.

She’s never really spoken about her accident to anyone before. Not even Sansa. Her family only found out because Jon was listed as her emergency contact and the hospital had to call him.

“Arya...”

“She left me there to die.” She clears her throat. “It’s where I got my scars.” Her eyes move to Gendry’s. He’s stopped working on her tattoo, entirely focused on her face now. “I never saw her again after that.” Gendry blinks, barely moving, but his hand comes to rest on her side, his gloved fingers gentle against her skin. He squeezes lightly. She blinks the tears away, wincing out a smile. “Can I have some water?”

Gendry reaches for the bottle next to him immediately, handing it to her. She takes a big gulp of water, wiping at her eyes with the back of her sleeve.

When her eyes meet Gendry’s again, she can see the question in his eyes. She nods, a small smile on her face. When he doesn’t move, she rolls her eyes and tilts her head more forcefully, urging him to get on with it. He smiles, setting to work again.

“What happened after?”

“I moved back here the minute they cleared me to fly,” she shrugs.

“I think it’s brave,” he mumbles, trying to sound casual.

She pauses. “What?”

He looks up at her again, swallowing thickly. “You got yourself out of a bad situation on your own. Not all of us are that lucky.”

Arya wonders what he’s been through that he’s not telling her. She wants to know but knows better than to ask.

She hopes that he’ll tell her when he’s ready.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa, Theon and Hot Pie are sat across from them, sharing some food and deep in conversation when Hot Pie looks up, his eyes suddenly widening, a few chips dangling from his mouth.
> 
> “Oh fuck.”

**_Renly Baratheon:_ ** _Quick question- have you seen my bloody nephew today? We were supposed to meet up this morning and he hasn’t showed and won’t take my calls._

Arya stares at her phone for a few seconds, frowning.

Renly doesn’t really text her, not unless it’s an emergency. Which, this shouldn’t be one because Arya is perfectly aware that Gendry’s up in his apartment right now doing absolutely nothing productive. Which makes this text all the more weird.

Some part of her knows better than to get involved in this, but the bigger part of her is worried so she shoves her phone in her back pocket and grabs her keys before she walks up to his flat.

His eyes furrow in question when he opens the door, but his mouth stretches in a smile. It’s the bags under his eyes that are a little too purple today and the way he’s looking a little too pale that tip her off. Well, that and Renly’s text.

“Don’t you have students?” He asks even as he lets her in.

“My 1 o’clock cancelled.” He walks over to the living room, throwing himself on the couch tiredly. “What’s wrong?”

He cocks one thick eyebrow. “Why would something be wrong?”

“Renly says you’re ghosting him.”

He sighs, straightening up on the couch and looking away from her. “Ren’s got a big mouth,” he mutters.

She walks forward and sits down on the couch next to him, tentatively reaching out to rest her hand on his knee. His gaze flits down to his leg.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine,” she promises. “I won’t push. But I’m here.”

His eyes remain fixed on her hand for a long moment before he looks up at her. She can see the pain on his face so clearly and for a moment, she’s thrown by it.

She can’t help but wonder when exactly it is that she’s come to understand what every flicker of emotion on Gendry’s face meant.

“It’s Robert’s birthday today,” he tells her in a low voice. “Renly, Shireen and Davos are going to the cemetery together and then they’re having dinner. They want me to go with.”

“You don’t want to go.”

It’s not a question but he shakes his head anyway, looking down at her hand again. “Robert didn’t want me there when he was alive. He wouldn’t want me there now that he’s dead.”

He’s trying so hard to keep his mask one, but she can tell he isn’t as indifferent about this as he’s trying to be.

“Robert was one of my father’s best friends, Gendry. But he was very sick. He drank himself to an early grave. My dad told me that when he died they were relieved because he couldn’t hurt himself anymore. I’m not saying it’s okay, but he wouldn’t have known how to raise you.” She pauses reaching out to grab his hand. “But he wanted you, who wouldn’t? He wouldn’t have left you everything if he didn’t. It was his way of making up for being a shit father.”

“He wasn’t a shit father,” Gendry mumbles. When he looks at her this time, she can see the anger bubbling beneath the surface. “He wasn’t a father at all. Would rather have had _him_ than his money.”

“I know. But sometimes we can’t make people stay no matter how much we want them to.” Her words catch in her throat. But this is about him right now, not her and her own damn issues. She needs him to be okay. She bumps her shoulder with his, willing him to look at her. “What if I go with you? To the cemetery.”

Gendry swallows thickly, eyes searching hers. Whatever he’s looking for, he seems to find it.

“Are you sure about this?”

“I don’t have plans,” she shrugs, like it’s not really a big deal.

It is, but she doesn’t need him to know that. For his sake and her own.

“Dinner too.”

Arya’s lips curl up at the corner. “Now you’re just being unreasonable,” she huffs. Gendry doesn’t exactly smile, but she feels the pressure on her palm when he squeezes her hand. “Dinner too,” she promises.

He looks down at their hands for a beat before meeting her eyes. He hesitates before he leans forward and presses his lips to her cheek.

When he pulls away, his eyes don’t leave hers. “Thanks.”

She smiles, feeling a warmth spread from where his lips were pressed to her cheek only a second ago.

“Go get dressed,” she urges, shoving him off the couch to lighten up the moment. Gendry grins. “I’ll let Renly know we’ll meet them at his place in an hour.”

  


* * *

  


“Never have I ever joined a cult.”

Arya gasps exaggeratedly as she narrows her eyes at Gendry. “That’s low,” she grumbles. “Most people have not.”

“Yes because most people don’t want to sit in a hall of creepy ass faces staring at them,” he shrugs. “Drink up.”

She takes a sip of her drink, eyes still trained on him.

“What did I miss?” Meera asks as she comes and stands next to Arya, her eyes flickering between the two.

“We’ve both kissed girls,” Gendry lies.

“Fuck’s sake, Gendry,” Meera mutters exasperatedly. “She’s bi, of course she’s bloody kissed girls! She’s fucked them too! Get with the program and aim higher. Or lower. Whichever way you see it.”

“What have you got, then?” Gendry challenges.

She turns to look at Arya, lips cocking up on one side. “Never have I ever punched a child.”

Arya groans as she drinks. Gendry and Meera both turn judgmental gazes at her.

“Boxing,” she shrugs. “I’m literally paid to punch children.”

“Fair enough.” Gendry pauses, lips quirking up as he eyes Meera. “Never have I ever had a crush on my neighbour.”

Meera sticks her tongue out at him, finishing the last of her drink.

“I’m going out for a break.”

She disappears out back, and Gendry turns to face Arya in time to notice she’s drinking. He raises his eyebrows at her expectantly.

“Jojen,” she shrugs, “then Meera. Talk about a sexual awakening.” Gendry barks a laugh and Arya joins him. He’s quite tipsy already, the flush on his cheeks kind of adorable. And she just called him adorable so she really needs to stop drinking. She’s working anyway so she really ought to slow back. “No more for me,” she tells him, placing what’s left of her drink in front of him. “You finish it off.” She pauses. “Thanks for not saying anything about the cult thing.”

“Just because you call me stupid doesn’t I actually am,” he mutters. “I know when to keep my mouth shut.”

She barely has time to shoot him a lopsided smirk before someone positively shrieks behind them.

“IT’S HAPPENING!” They turn in time to find Sansa running their way, Theon trailing after her. They’re wearing twin expressions of absolute glee, cheeks flushed and eyes wide as they reach them. Sansa unceremoniously throws herself on the barstool next to Gendry, while Theon reaches an arm between them to grab the drink Arya placed in front of Gendry minutes ago, downing it in one go. Sansa smiles as she clutches Gendry’s bicep. “It’s happening! Robb’s about to- wow, you’ve been working out, my friend!” She marvels, squeezing Gendry’s arm. “Theon, come feel Gendry’s bicep.”

Arya watches in amusement as Theon does so dutifully, missing Gendry’s bicep entirely and going for the shoulder. And yeah, wherever they just came from, they’ve definitely had too much to drink.

“Bony,” Theon remarks, prodding at the boy’s shoulder. “I like it.”

Gendry just shakes his head, taking a sip from his drink.

“Sansa,” Arya calls out, turning her sister’s attention back to her. Sansa doesn’t stop absently squeezing Gendry’s bicep, much to Arya’s amusement. “Focus. What’s happening?”

Sansa’s eyes widen, her mouth dropping as she gasps.

“Right! Robb!” She squeals excitedly, pointing vaguely at the entrance. When Arya looks up to the front door, she notices Robb and Jon making their way inside the pub, looking a little more than tipsy. “He’s about to-“

“WHERE’S MEERA?” Robb positively shouts the moment he spots Arya. Meera comes barging in from the back door at that exact moment. “Ah, there she is,” Robb sighs dramatically when he finds her. “The most beautiful girl in the world!”

Meera’s forehead wrinkles, her eyes widening. Arya snorts and Gendry stifles a laugh.

“Robb,” Meera says his name carefully, deliberately. “What’s going on?”

“I love you,” Robb declares, making to climb over the bar. He trips and nearly falls face flat on the floor, failing phenomenally. It’s only when Jon pulls him down and points him in the direction of the bar flap that he finally realizes that he really has other options. He still trips twice before he’s finally standing in front of Meera behind the bar. “I don’t care if that makes me a Meera perv. I love you and I like it when you threaten to throw drinks at people if they don’t leave the pub and I love your brow piercing and your hair! Gods, your hair!”

“Robert-“

“I even like it when you call me Robert!” He exclaims, eyes wide. “Okay I hate it when you call me Robert but I love you so—“

Meera thankfully, _thankfully_ shuts Robb up by leaning forward to kiss him. Robb’s arms flail for a moment before they finally come to rest on her cheeks, finding his bearing as he kisses her back.

There aren’t a whole lot of people at the pub tonight but when Brienne wolf-whistles and Jaime starts clapping from his perch next to her, the whole damn pub joins in.

And the stupid rom-com that is actually Arya’s life shows its ugly mug once again.

As if reading Arya’s exact thoughts, Jaime’s voice filters through when everyone’s quieted down. “Now’s the time you yell out _all drinks on me_.”

Robb’s eyes widen. “ALL DR-“

“Fuck off, Lannister,” Meera tells him, shoving her palm against Robb’s mouth and effectively shutting Arya’s dumb brother up.

“Worth a shot,” Jaime shrugs, grinning wolfishly at Meera and raising his glass to her.

Meera turns her attention back to the boy in front of her. “Robb, you’re an idiot. Next time you do something like this I _will_ punch you, I don’t care if I love you.”

“I love that you wanna punch me,” Robb says dreamily and Meera rolls her eyes. She turns her attention to Jon and Sansa and Theon. “I have three more hours on my shift so you three are going to bloody take care of this.”

“On it,” Jon says immediately, walking behind the bar and putting an arm around Robb’s shoulder. “Come on, Romeo.”

“But you said I have to tell her-“

“And you did,” Jon coos like he’s talking to a baby. “But if you tell her anymore she’s going to dump your ass before you even have a chance to put it to good use.”

Robb frowns but allows himself to be led away, still mumbling as Jon guides him towards the exit.

Sansa stands abruptly, leaning over to bar to press a smack to Meera’s lips, then Arya’s, then Gendry’s.

“Later, wankers.”

She grabs Theon’s arm and drags him away, disappearing through the door behind Jon and Robb.

They stare after them for a long moment before Arya turns her attention to Meera, smirking darkly and raising one eyebrow. “Never have I ever had someone declare their love for me in public.”

“Never have I ever had a dramatic idiot for a brother,” Meera shoots back.

“‘Least I don’t have a dramatic idiot for a boyfriend,” Arya shrugs.

Meera glances at Gendry and Arya follows her gaze. He’s wiping exaggeratedly at his lips, trying to clean up the remains of Sansa’s bright red lipstick. He’s only making it worse, matte red now tinging his cheek.

Arya smiles.

“There’s still time,” Meera comments offhandedly, shooting her a knowing look before she leaves to serve a customer.

Arya heats up as she turns her attention back to Gendry. She laughs when he looks at his hands to find his palms entirely covered in red lipstick.

“You’re an idiot,” she mumbles affectionately, reaching over the bar to wipe at his lips.

She feels him smile against her fingers.

  


* * *

  


Arya realizes just how much trouble her growing feelings for Gendry might get her into a few weeks later.

She’s at a pub round the corner from their building, sandwiched between Jon and Gendry as they heatedly discuss the latest issue of that god-awful comic they love so much, Gendry’s chair nearly entirely turned her way, his arm resting across the back of hers.

Sansa, Theon and Hot Pie are sat across from them, sharing some food and deep in conversation when Hot Pie looks up, his eyes suddenly widening, a few chips dangling from his mouth.

“Oh fuck.” He looks absolutely mortified, a single chip falling comically onto the table.

He shoves it back into his mouth, chewing nervously as Sansa’s attention turns to him. She looks up, following his eye line, her face wrinkling in a disgusted expression when it settles on whatever they’re looking at behind Arya.

“What’s _she_ doing in Storm’s End?”

Arya turns around to find out who they’re so fixated on. Her eyes land on a 30-something statuesque redhead standing by the bar. She’s momentarily thrown by her. She’s beautiful in ways that Arya isn’t, tall and slender, curves in all the right places just like Sansa. Her features are colder than Sansa’s though, a little more calculated and a little sharper around the edges. Arya feels a shiver run through her body, something about this woman rubbing her the wrong way.

The rest of their table take notice and Gendry’s about to turn back and see what everyone’s looking at when Sansa reaches across the table for his hand, stilling his movement.

“Don’t look now, but Melisandre just walked in.”

Gendry’s eyes widen before they darken as he nods lightly and takes a large sip from his drink. Arya looks at him curiously. She hasn’t known Gendry long enough to call herself an expert in reading him, but she’s definitely never seen him pale so quickly, his shoulders going stiff and his mouth setting in a thin line. She can almost physically feel him shutting down.

“Hey,” she murmurs, reaching a hand to squeeze his knee.

Gendry’s eyes flicker to Arya, fingers coming to clutch hers like a lifeline. He smiles a little breathlessly, but he still looks entirely too uncomfortable.

“What kind of name is Melisandre?” Jon asks, eyebrows knitting together.

“She’s from Asshai,” Gendry mumbles absently, looking back at his drink as his hand tightens around Arya’s.

Jon’s eyebrows knit together. “Wait isn’t your ex from Asshai?”

Arya feels a sudden swelling in her throat as realization dawns on her. She doesn’t understand why her heart is beating that fast, or why her stomach drops in that way or why her palms are itching with the need to touch Gendry. Or why she’s feeling this strange mix of anger and frustration boil beneath the surface.

“She’s spotted us,” Hot Pie mumbles.

“I _know_ that bitch isn’t coming our way right now,” Sansa barks. “Not after what she’s done.”

Arya’s thoughts are running a mile a minute, trying to make sense of this entire situation. Trying to understand why she suddenly feels angry, why she suddenly needs to comfort Gendry and make sure he knows she’s there. His face is still way too pale for her liking and his eyes are trained on their intertwined hands.

She acts on instinct. Before she can fully think about what she’s doing, she reaches out to press her palm against Gendry’s cheek, letting out a breathless sigh when his stubble tickles her skin.

He looks surprised when his eyes meet hers, lips slightly parted in uncertainty, and Arya runs her thumb over his lower lip for a brief moment before she leans forward, closing the distance and pressing her mouth to his.

Gendry stills and Arya wonders if she should pull away, but before she has a chance to, it’s like his whole body comes alive and he starts to move his lips in rhythm with hers.

It’s muscle memory, she realizes, because they _have_ done this before. And sure, it was a long time ago and it was only one night, but it’s still as good as she remembers.

In some ways, even better. 

He’s softer than her memories but also more solid, and when his hand moves from the back of the chair to tangle in her hair, fingers brushing her neck lightly, she allows herself to move closer, reaching her free hand to grasp the soft fabric of his cotton shirt at his waist, trying to pull him even closer.

She doesn’t know how long they kiss for, but when they pull away, it takes Arya a whole minute to calm her racing heart and erratic breathing, savouring every moment of it. When she finally open her eyes, Gendry’s blue ones are staring right back at her, soft and surprised and almost reverent. It nearly knocks her breath away again.

Someone clears their throat, Theon probably, pulling them out of their bubble. When they turn to look at their friends, Arya knows she and Gendry are wearing twin expressions of shock, but in that moment she can’t even remember how to school her features into something that looks a little less caught off guard by what she just did.

Sansa’s grin is so wide she looks almost diabolical, while Theon is trying very hard not to laugh. Hot Pie just looks confused and Jon’s eyes are trained on the ground, entirely too uncomfortable with their display.

“She’s gone,” Theon tells them after a moment, raising his eyebrows pointedly at Arya.

Arya finally manages to do something other than stare dumbly, smoothing her shirt out and clearing her throat.

“Good,” she says, trying to sound more certain than she actually is. Gendry shifts next to her, his knee bumping her thigh. She doesn’t look at him. Her lips still burn from where he was kissing her moments ago. “The plan worked, then.”

_The plan absolutely fucking backfired._

_  
_

* * *

  


They don’t end up staying long after that.

On the walk home from the pub, Arya finds herself trailing behind with Gendry, Sansa and Theon in front of them.

For a few moments, she distracts herself looking at her roommates. Theon’s arm is draped across Sansa’s shoulders, his entire body turned towards her as he sloppily presses a succession of kisses to her cheek, making them both stumble a few times. Though Arya can’t see her sister’s smile, she can absolutely hear it through her amused shrieks. The hand clutching Theon’s waist tightly, pulling him closer to her also belies how annoyed she’s trying to pretend she is. They’re disgustingly in love, really. 

It’s all Arya can do not to smile.

Gendry’s arm brushes against hers as they walk, and she’s reminded of the elephant in the room. Or on the sidewalk, whatever. Shit’s kinda awkward and they need to talk about it, is the gist of it.

His eyes are trained on the couple in front of them too, she realizes when she looks at him, and his slight smile tells her he’s equally happy for them.

His lips are very pink, like they’ve been kissed not that long ago. It’s all very distracting.

“About before....” she finally manages, trailing off as she looks at the ground and kicks a stray pebble on the sidewalk. “I was just....”

“Helping a friend out,” Gendry finishes for her, shrugging lightly.

“Yes.”

_No. Well. Yes. But that’s not the only reason I did it._

She glances at his face, noting how his cheeks flush and an almost sad smile colours his features.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“We all have our demons,” she reassures him because it’s true. He already knows most of hers. “Is she the bad situation you didn’t get yourself out of?”

She’s had a little too much to drink, otherwise she wouldn’t pry, but she’s also never seen Gendry react quite like he did back at the pub. It was almost like he was afraid of this woman.

He nods silently, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“She’s my ex,” he tells her eventually. “Well, I use the word ex very loosely,” he adds, voice very scratchy. Arya’s eyebrows knit together. “She is technically my ex in the sense that we were together for a while, but she was using me from start to finish.”

Arya’s heart jumps to her throat at the thought of someone hurting Gendry. For a second, she wonders if he felt the same way when she told him about Jaqen and Freya, but then she shakes her head, clearing the stupid thoughts away.

“Using you how?”

He averts his eyes, looking straight ahead.

“I met her a couple of weeks after I found out Robert was my dad.” He rubs his nose and sighs. “I was confused and lonely and this older, beautiful woman wanted me. And when you’re desperate enough, you convince yourself that every argument in the back of your mind is wrong. It’s just bloody wrong. She wanted me.” He frowns. “Some part of me never believed it, though.” He pauses for a moment, clearing his throat. “Our first time together, I wasn’t very sober.” Arya’s frown deepens. “‘Fact, I remember very little of it other than the next morning. It was like that most times. She’d get me really drunk and I wouldn’t remember anything that happened the next day.”

Arya swallows thickly, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the need to go back to the pub and hurt this woman.

When she was with Freya, they’d often get shitfaced to the point of no recognition and she’d wake up the next day wondering what she’d done the night before. At least Freya wasn’t getting her wasted on purpose, though. They’d just both been going through a really shit time in their lives.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want-“

“No, I want to,” he interrupts before she finishes, eyes meeting hers pointedly for a moment. “I definitely wasn’t happy in the relationship,” he continues. “But I was ashamed. I thought something was wrong with me. It had to be me if someone like her was making me miserable.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Arya murmurs, the words getting stuck in her throat as she links her fingers with Gendry’s and squeezes tight for a moment. He smiles sadly.

“It took a while, but I know now,” he reassures. She smiles back, letting go of his hand. “A few months after we got together, I find out Melisandre was Stannis’ mistress before he died.”

Arya’s eyes widen.

“Your uncle?”

Gendry nods.

“All she cared about was the Baratheon fortune. Stannis left her nothing in his will and Renly’s aversion to female genitalia meant that she had to take her business elsewhere. That is, until she learned of my existence. She only wanted me to get her pregnant and I would never consciously do that, so she did what she did.” He swallows thickly. “It was Davos who recognized her. He’d seen her with Stannis before. He’s the one who got me out of it and told me it was okay to feel whatever I was feeling. He filed restraining orders against her right after, for me and Shireen and himself. Renly and Loras did the same when they learned how desperate she was to get her hands on that inheritance.” Arya doesn’t know how to take it all in. It’s too much for any person to go through. “But it’s all done now,” Gendry adds, snapping himself out of it and trying for a smile.

It’s his way of telling her this conversation’s over, she knows.

They’re already in their building’s lobby by then, Sansa and Theon waiting for them by the open elevator.

“Night, Gen,” Sansa mumbles when they’re on their floor.

“Night.”

“See you tomorrow, mate,” Theon adds, clapping him on the shoulder before he disappears down the hall after Sansa.

Arya lingers in the elevator doorway for a minute.

“Do you wanna come in?” She asks hesitantly, looking up to meet Gendry’s eyes. “We can watch a movie. Or I can make you a toastie.”

His features soften in a smile.

“I think I’d rather go to bed,” he mumbles. “But I’ll take you up on the offer another time.”

Arya’s throat closes up. She doesn’t understand why she doesn’t want to leave him alone right, but she knows better than to push. Especially after what he just told her.

She nods eventually. “Good night, Gendry.”

She backs out of the elevator but doesn’t move further away, some part of her still hoping he will change his mind.

“‘Night, Arya,” he says, pressing the button to his floor.

The last thing Arya sees before the doors close between them is his entire body sagging tiredly against the wall.

  


* * *

  


The next morning, they pick up right where they left off before that night at the pub. Gendry doesn’t bring any of it up, not the kiss or the talk or any of it. Maybe that kiss meant nothing to him.

Good thing it meant nothing to her either.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Arya, tell Gendry he has to come with us to Winterfell for Christmas.”
> 
> Arya stops in her tracks, groaning as she rubs her lids. She literally just woke up minutes ago and only just left her room to use the bathroom.

“Arya, tell Gendry he has to come with us to Winterfell for Christmas.”

Arya stops in her tracks, groaning as she rubs her lids. She literally just woke up minutes ago and only just left her room to use the bathroom.

She narrows her eyes as she peeks into the living room, finding Sansa and Gendry sprawled on opposite ends of the couch, her sister prodding at her face with some sort of highlighter.

Gendry rolls his eyes as takes a sip from his mug of what she assumes is coffee. And yeah, that is definitely what she’s going to need if she’s going to entertain Sansa’s whim of the day so soon after she just woke up.

Sansa finally looks at Arya over the phone she’s holding in front of her face, eyebrows raised.

“Coffee first,” Arya demands grumpily.

Gendry snorts, setting aside his mug and getting off the couch.

She makes her way to the bathroom, making quick work of peeing and washing up.

When she’s back in the living room, there’s an extra cup of coffee on the table. She hums as she walks straight towards it and grabs the mug greedily with both hands, plopping herself on the couch next to Gendry. There’s not enough room so he groans when she ends up half on top of him before scooting over to make space for her. Arya can tell he’s a lot more amused than he’s letting on. She leans her head against his bicep as she sips on her coffee, taking a moment to enjoy this slow morning before Sansa drags her into whatever mess they’re discussing.

When she pulls away and straightens up, her sister is looking at her expectantly.

“Right,” Arya starts. She leans closer to Gendry, her arm brushing his as she looks up at him. “Do you have plans for Christmas? Gotta spend it with the fam?”

“He does not,” Sansa replies indignantly before the boy even has a chance to speak. Gendry’s lips quirk up in amusement as he looks down at Arya. “In fact, he is probably spending it alone!” Her sister sounds positively appalled, which would make Arya laugh under any other circumstance. Instead, her eyebrows furrow at him, wondering if that’s true. Gendry shrugs. “Davos _and_ Shireen _and_ Renly _and_ Loras are _all_ going to be away at The Reach and Gendry has zero interest in spending Christmas with Selyse’s family or with the Tyrells so it makes perfect sense that he comes with us. Besides, I’ve been trying to get him to come to Winterfell for the past, what, six years now?”

“I don’t think we’ve known each other six years, Sansa” Gendry argues weakly.

“He literally has no excuse this time,” Sansa ploughs on, completely ignoring him. “You really don’t,” she adds, finally turning her attention to him.

Gendry sighs, looking down at his lap.

“Do you have some kind of aversion to the North I haven’t been told about?” Arya questions, her voice much more collected than her sister’s.

“No,” Gendry mumbles, meeting her eyes again. “I just-“

“He thinks he’ll be a bother,” Sansa cuts him off once again before he can get a word in, her tone almost disapproving.

“Sansa,” Arya finally warns, her patience wearing thin.

She understands that her sister means well and that her exuberance is coming from a good place, but she can physically feel Gendry tensing up next to her. She’s well aware by now that overwhelming Gendry is never the right way to get him to do anything, really.

Sansa huffs, turning her attention back to the phone camera in her hand and applying some glittery purple eye shadow on one of her lids.

Arya turns her attention to Gendry again. She nudges him lightly, a silent question on her face.

“I just think it’s gonna be family, and I wouldn’t want to...” he trails off, ears turning a little pink.

Arya’s expression softens. “You of all people know that family is not just blood,” she tells him. “Theon will be there. So will Meera and Jojen. Even Brienne and Pod are coming by on the eve of.” She pauses, watching the way he stares thoughtfully at his lap. “Hey,” she adds after a moment, reaching her hand to wrap it around his forearm. He gaze flickers to hers. “If you don’t want to come because you don’t feel like it or won’t feel comfortable or would rather spend it here, then I won’t press.”

“But-“

“ _We_ won’t press,” Arya speaks over Sansa, turning to glare at her, her tone final. Sansa huffs disapprovingly but settles, continuing to apply that awful eye shadow more aggressively. Arya turns back to Gendry. “But if you’re only doing this because you think it’ll be an imposition or whatever other stupid thing you’re thinking, then I _will_ drag you there myself.”

“You’re gonna drag me there?” Gendry asks sceptically, his tone a little lighter, already relaxing against her.

The words slip out before she can think about them. “I’m a lot stronger than I look, you of all people know that.”

Gendry’s ears turn an even darker shade of red and Arya wonders if he’s remembering the same thing she is - the surprised laugh he let out when she flipped them over as they were making out on a bed, before straddling his hips and taking off her shirt, hungrily pulling his lips back to hers right after.

She wonders if there will ever come a day when she’ll ever stop remembering that night so vividly.

Sansa’s eyebrows are raised for an entirely different reason now.

“That I do know,” Gendry admits eventually, taking a sip from his coffee.

Arya clears her throat. “And anyway,” she adds as an afterthought, “Rickon’ll be there. He’s the only Stark sibling you haven’t met. And I really think you should meet him considering I’m pretty sure he and your sister have a very mutual desire to bang.”

Gendry winces. “Arya,” he mutters. He shakes his head, trying to clear it of whatever image she drilled into his brain. “Besides, didn’t he already move here like, two weeks ago?”

Sansa gasps. “Shireen likes him back?!” She throws away her phone and the orange eye shadow she had been testing out. She straightens up, her eyes wide in excitement.

“She really really does,” Arya humours her sister before she turns back to Gendry. “He did and you still haven’t met him.”

“When you put it like that...”

Sansa’s attention snaps back to Gendry.

“So you’re coming with us, then?”

“Your sister makes a very valid point,” Gendry shrugs. “I have to officially meet my sister’s future boyfriend. Do what the patriarchy expects of me and make sure he’s good enough for her and all that because clearly she can’t be trusted to make her own choices.”

“Of course,” Arya nods, smile wide.

“And since I can’t seem to find the time to meet him here, why not drag my ass all the way to the freezing North to do it...”

Sansa shrieks as she pushes herself off her end of the couch and wraps her arms around Gendry. She reaches for Arya behind his back, pulling her close and trapping the three of them in an awkward three-way hug.

“You’re not going to regret it,” Sansa promises as she pulls away, reaching for her phone again. “Theon is going to be so happy. At least dad will have someone else to terrify for once.”

“She’s kidding,” Arya reassures quickly when Gendry’s eyes widen. “He’s not very scary.” She pauses, lips quirking up on one side. “It’s Nymeria and Ghost you’ll have to worry about.”

* * *

Ghost takes an immediate liking to Gendry, nearly tackling him to the ground as soon as he’s out of the car in his haste to welcome everyone. He spends the longest time licking Jon’s face, but he doesn’t really spare the rest of them, making the rounds and wagging his tail as he hops from one person to the other, barking especially loud when Arya and Sansa kneel down to scratch the back of his neck affectionately.

Nymeria, on the other hand, only approaches Arya at first, weary of everyone else. She moves away to bump Jon and Robb’s thighs with her muzzle and licks Sansa’s hand, but that’s pretty much it. She walks back to stand next to Arya, her wagging tail the only sign that she’s happy to see them.

Her dad comes out the front door soon after, and Arya can’t stop herself from running over to her father. Sansa has the same idea, and the two of them end up in a three-man hug with their dad, his bright laughter echoing as he tries to find his balance and keep from toppling back.

He walks down to greet the rest of their party when his daughters let go of him, first Rickon and Bran and then Robb, Jon and Theon.

Arya looks away to find Gendry hesitantly approaching them. She smiles reassuringly at him, nodding lightly before she meets him halfway, tugging on his hand.

She turns her attention back to her dad so she can properly introduce them, when she notices him staring at them, jaw going slack and eyes darting back and forth from Gendry’s face to hers.

Arya frowns slightly, looking at the gobsmacked expression on her father’s face. “Dad?”

Ned shakes his head briefly, blinking a couple of times.

“I’m sorry, it’s just you look so much...” he mumbles, eyes trained on Gendry as he walks closer to them. He turns his attention to Arya with the same dazed expression. “And you, I’ve always thought you had her smile, but next to him it’s...” he trails off, letting out a small breathless chuckle before he shakes his head as if physically trying to clear it. “I’m sorry.”

Arya’s frown melts into a smile.

Sansa walks over to stand on Gendry’s other side. “Dad, this is Gendry,” she introduces. “You remember I told you about him when I moved to King’s Landing.”

Ned smiles, nodding as he reaches a hand forward and shakes Gendry’s. “Yes, of course.”

“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Gendry tells him and Arya smirks lightly. “Thank you for having me in your home.”

“Nonsense,” Ned shakes his head, waving his hand around dismissively, “call me Ned. None of that sir stuff.”

Gendry’s cheeks flush but he nods, his smile genuine. Ned still can’t take his eyes off him.

“I know I look like him,” Gendry ventures after a moment, bringing up the elephant in the front yard. Ned’s smile widens. “I still catch Davos giving me _that_ look sometimes,” he laughs. “I imagine it’s even stranger for you since you knew him when he was around my age now.”

“It’s uncanny,” Ned confesses, laughing lightly. “Especially with...” he trails off, eyes darting to Arya again, before he pulls himself together. “You must be exhausted from your trip,” he tells them instead. Every so supportive and understanding, Arya’s brothers have already gone inside, leaving Gendry on his own. “Let’s get you settled.”

He reaches an arm to pat Gendry on the back, carefully guiding him inside the house.

Sansa and Arya share a satisfied look before they follow them in.

* * *

“There you are.”

Gendry looks up from the jumper he’s unpacking. He smiles when he finds Arya in the doorway, motioning for her to come in.

“‘S a nice room,” he mumbles as he places the last of his hoodies in the closet, shoving his duffel at the bottom and closing the doors.

She shrugs. “Theon’s old room.” Gendry’s eyebrows raise. “Well, technically our old guest room, but he was our most frequent guest, so.”

“Doesn’t he need it back, then?” Gendry wonders.

Arya sits down on the edge of the bed and Gendry joins her.

“Nah, he stays with Sansa now.”

“Your dad’s chill,” he comments offhandedly.

“We’re not kids anymore,” Arya tells him flatly. “He trusts us. And besides, he knows they’ve lived together for a while so it would be really stupid of him to mind.” She pauses, playing with a thread in her jeans. “He kind of changed after mum,” she shares. “He was a lot stricter on us when we were kids. Always wanted to make sure we were behaving and acting all proper.” She sighs, tugging harder on the thread. “When she died, it’s like something switched in him. He just didn’t care as much anymore. Let us do whatever we wanted as long as we were being safe. Just wants us to enjoy our lives, really. He doesn’t nit-pick about the small things anymore.” Gendry nods, but the frown doesn’t leave his face. “What?”

“Does he know about Braavos? About Jaqen and Freya?”

“Not in detail,” she admits. “He knows the gist of it. I was in a bad place and met some people who weren’t necessarily good for me. I made some mistakes. It nearly cost me my life. I didn’t want to tell him too much. He’s gone through so much as it is. Didn’t want to add to it.” She sighs, shoulders slumping as she toys with her fingers, twisting one of her rings like she does when she’s nervous. “He made me promise him anyway.”

She can feel Gendry gazing at her from the corner of her eye.

“Made you promise what?”

“That I wouldn’t run away the next time things get hard,” she mumbles. “That I would come to him first, before letting my grief nearly get the better of me.”

She swallows thickly, trying to keep her emotions at bay. Being back here always leaves her with an emptiness at the pit of her stomach, memories engulfing her entirely. Of learning about Jon, and Bran’s fall, and her mum. She misses her mum so much.

Gendry doesn’t push further. Instead, he reaches for the sleeve of the black hooding she’s wearing, tugging a little on the fabric.

“This is mine, isn’t it?”

A guilty smile creeps up her face as she winces lightly. “You forgot it at our place a few weeks back,” she shrugs. “I like oversized things.”

“I’ve noticed,” Gendry chuckles, shoving her lightly. “I’m never going to see this again, am I?”

“Yes, you will,” she reassures, nodding enthusiastically. “You’ll see me wearing it, so you will technically see it,” she tells him flatly, her mask slipping into a grin when he chuckles again.

They hear some commotion coming from the doorway and they both look up to find Nymeria standing there, ears perked up.

“She’s beautiful,” Gendry marvels. “A little terrifying too,” he adds as an afterthought. “Kinda like you.”

He swallows audibly, looking a little nervous.

Arya smiles wider, feeling herself warm up.

“Hey girl,” she coos, reaching a hand forward. “You can come inside, it’s okay.”

Nymeria approaches slowly, taking careful steps inside the room. She reaches Arya first, nuzzling her face briefly against hers before she turns her attention to Gendry.

Arya feels him stiffen next to her.

“Don’t be scared,” she reassures, scratching Nymeria’s fur. “She can smell you on me. Your hoodie,” she explains. “That’s why she’s curious.”

Nymeria approaches calmly and Gendry reaches a hesitant hand to her. It takes barely a moment before she pushes her head into his palm, allowing him to pet her.

Gendry laughs breathlessly as Nymeria nearly rams straight into him in her sudden excitement, standing on her hind legs to rest her front legs on Gendry’s thighs.

“Hey girl,” he manages eventually, shooting a smile Arya’s way as he continues to scratch the dog’s neck. “Hello Nymeria.”

Nymeria whines affectionately, sniffing Gendry’s face before she starts licking him, rumbling in excitement.

“Oh, so you _like him_ like him,” Arya muses, a huge smile taking over her face.

Gendry laughs loudly, a lot more at ease as he allows himself to fall back on the mattress and surrender to Nymeria’s weight nearly on top of him.

Arya watches amusedly for a second before she lies back next him, chuckling loudly when Nymeria turns her attention to her and climbs entirely on the bed, propping her lower half on Gendry’s stomach and settling her head on Arya’s, sighing in contentment as they continue to pet her fur.

Arya glances at Gendry, surprised to find him already staring back at her with a smile on his face.

He’s a lot closer than she expects. And he’s beautiful. And she can keep denying and ignoring it all she wants, the truth is she fucking loves him. And it’s bloody terrifying because she’s not supposed to love anyone anymore. She promised herself she wouldn’t, promised herself the people she already loved were enough and she didn’t need anyone else. She doesn’t know what ninja powers that Gendry has that allowed him to sneak past her defences and wedge himself so deep into her heart.

Point is, she’s weak around him and for a moment, she allows herself to surrender to it.

She closes the distance between them and presses her lips gently to his. It’s softer than she anticipates, and a lot more muted. And despite of lack of urgency behind it this time, it’s more intimate than either of them expects. She takes longer to open her eyes than she wants, but when she does, blue meets grey and she can’t help but wonder if the love she sees reflected in his eyes is merely a figment of her imagination or if it’s really always been this obvious.

“You smell like dog.”

It’s a little ironic that Gendry very much barks a laugh at her words.

* * *

When Theon finds them some time later, they’re sat further up on the bed, leaning back against the headboard and watching some dumb video on Gendry’s phone, Nymeria sprawled across their laps.

He raises his eyebrows at them, a small smirk on his face when he notices how close they’re sitting. He doesn’t say anything before he lets himself fall dramatically across their laps next to Nymeria, earning some colourful curses out of the two them when his bones hit Arya’s knees and Gendry’s shins.

Nymeria only raises her head at his antics before reaching out a paw and resting it on Theon’s stomach, claiming him as one of her own as well.

Theon sighs deeply, seemingly consumed in thought, and Arya finally turns her attention away from the phone to look at her friend.

“Oi.” She reaches over Nymeria to poke his forehead. “What’s wrong?”

Theon exhales sharply. “D’you think if I ask Sansa to marry me, she’ll say yes?”

That certainly grabs their attention. Arya straightens up while Gendry clicks his phone shut, forehead creased as he shoots Arya a quick look. Even Nymeria senses something important’s going on, lifting her head and eyeing Theon curiously. Theon sighs again before he straightens up to sit in front of Arya and Gendry on the bed, crossing his legs. Nymeria repositions herself, resting her head in Theon’s lap and keeping her body wedged between Arya and Gendry’s legs.

“You want to propose to Sansa?” Arya asks carefully after a moment, realizing Theon isn’t actually going to elaborate.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, hands absently coming to play with Nymeria’s fur. “I’ve thought about it before,” he admits.

“Didn’t you used to say you never cared to marry when we were kids?” Arya wonders.

“I didn’t think I’d want to get married,” Theon confirms, nodding. “But I also remember Sansa always did.“

Arya’s eyes widen as a memory hits her, a laugh bubbling its way to the surface. “Oh gods, remember when she made Bran and Rickon marry under the Heart Tree?” 

Theon rolls his eyes. “She and Lady officiated and she had Shaggydog and Summer as the groomsdogs.” He pauses, lifting his eyebrows. “How the fuck were we all coerced into being there?”

Arya shrugs. “I think she threatened Robb she’d tell mum she caught him wanking or something. I don’t know, exactly, but once he was in, you and Jon were a sure thing. I was only there because she let me play with Nymeria and Ghost.”

“And she was pissed at you because you refused to wear, what was it? A crown?”

“A flower crown.” Arya’s gaze flickers to Gendry, only to find him watching them amusedly. His hair is falling on his face and his lips are quirked up in one corner and Arya really, really wants to lean in and kiss him again. She forces herself to turn her attention back to Theon, avoiding that slippery slope. “So you do want to marry, then?”

“I want to marry Sansa,” Theon clarifies. “If she wants to. I still don’t care much about marriage, but I’d do it for her. I don’t want her to have any regrets.”

“Have you talked to her about it, then?” Gendry asks, voice soft.

“I haven’t,” Theon admits. 

“She’s not the same as she was when we were kids,” Arya tells him. “She might not want it either.”

“But what if she does and she’s just not telling me? I don’t want her to settle for whatever she thinks I want.”

“Okay, well, mate, as much as I want to be of help, you’re kind of asking the wrong people.” Gendry says, trying to sound gentle. “Do I think Sansa will marry you if you ask her? Abso-fucking-lutely. As for whether she’d be saying yes because she wants to or because she thinks that’s what you want, you have to ask her.”

“I think Gendry’s right,” Arya agrees. She hesitates, swallowing thickly for a moment. “I know I wasn’t there— when you got together...” She sighs, once again reminded of all that she missed while she was away. Her chest feels a little tighter. “I, well, wasn’t of much use back then. So maybe Gendry’s more help than I am in that department.”

“I’ve known them for all of five years,” Gendry counters, shrugging. “You’re Sansa’s sister and Theon’s, erm...”

“Roommate?” Arya tries, grimacing. “Friend?” Theon shakes his head. “I’m definitely not your sister!”

Theon shakes his head harder. “Oh no, I have one of those and believe me, one’s more than enough.”

Arya laughs. “Pack,” she muses, eventually. “I don’t know, maybe it’s not the same for you but you’re pack for me. Both of you,” she adds, turning her attention to Gendry.

“Pack,” Theon tests out the word while Gendry smiles, squeezing Arya’s fingers. “Yeah, I like that.”

“Good.” Arya grins. “And this pack member thinks you should be honest with Sansa about the whole marriage thing. And do whatever makes you both comfortable.”

“Thanks.” Theon looks down at Nymeria gently cradling her head between his hands and leaning down to nuzzle his face in her fur. “And you, dumbass? What do you think I should do?” He coos at her in that stupid baby voice people use when they talk to dogs.

Nymeria whines playfully before she shoves him back and Theon nearly falls off the bed. Arya laughs as the dog jumps off the bed, barking excitedly. Ghost joins his sister seconds later before they both sprint out of the room, and when Arya looks in the doorway, she finds Jon there.

“Don’t you all look like a nice and cosy little family,” he teases.

“They really do,” Sansa drawls, appearing from behind him and resting an elbow on Jon’s shoulder as she watches them, clearly entertained.

Arya grabs the nearest pillow and flicks it her way. It hits Jon right in the face and Gendry and Theon both snort at his affronted look.

“Oi!”

“From the nice and cosy little family,” Arya deadpans, smiling obnoxiously at him.

“Wanker,” Jon mutters, turning around and walking off.

Sansa smirks.

“Dinner’s ready.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You won’t be able to keep up with me,” she warns, reaching for his hand inside his jacket pocket and pulling him along. Gendry digs his heels, keeping her in place. She turns around to look at him, only to find him watching her with an expression she can’t quite read. Her breath catches in her throat. “What?”
> 
> He shakes his head softly after a moment, swallowing thickly before he takes a step forward. Arya starts walking too.
> 
> “I already can’t keep up with you."

“Gods, this is absolutely the only sane reason anyone would want to come freeze their ass off in Winterfell every fucking Christmas.”

Theon dips another sausage into whatever sauce is nearest to him before shovelling it into his mouth, moaning exaggeratedly.

They’ve been in Winterfell for a few days now, but between helping their dad decorate the house and set up the tree, figuring out who will be joining them for Christmas dinner and finalizing some things, they only managed to make it to Winter Town to check out the Christmas Market today.

Gendry takes a puff from his cigarette, leaning nearly entirely over the table. “What? The lights and stalls and thundering Christmas carols don’t do it for you?”

“I would argue but I too am here for the food,” Arya shrugs before she polishes off the last of her burger and shovels some chips into her mouth, following it up with a sip from her beer.

She’s currently perched on a table in the middle of the market, legs resting on the adjoined bench. Gendry and Theon are sitting on said bench on either side of her, Gendry’s arm pressed to her leg and his head half-resting on her thigh.

She looks down at him, nudging his shoulder with her knee to catch his attention. When he looks up at her, she takes the cigarette currently dangling from his lips, shoving a few chips in its place before he can object.

“Alright, we’ve got scones, pretzels, biscuits, cheese crêpes, mince pies, some kind of weird ice-cream-stollen combo and the best waffles you’ll ever eat,” Sansa announces, dropping on the empty bench next to Theon and laying out the food she got in front of them.

It’s enough food for a small army, really, which sounds just about right.

“Feed me,” Gendry whines, reaching over Arya’s legs and trying to grab the closest box he can get his hands on. He doesn’t actually find anything and Arya watches amusedly as he struggles.

“I don’t think getting high before coming here was a very good idea,” Robb mutters, coming to sit across from them on the other side of the table. Meera follows with Jojen and Rickon, Bran wheeling himself next to them.

“What are you talking about?” Jon mumbles, settling next to Gendry and laying out some more boxes in front of them. “It was an excellent idea,” he adds, opening one of the boxes to reveal assorted biscuits, immediately shovelling a couple into his mouth. Gendry turns his attention to the food Jon has laid out in front of them, eyes widening when he notices the crêpes. “I got you,” Jon whispers to him, handing him a small plastic fork.

Gendry smiles positively wide at him, immediately attacking one of the cheesy treats.

He closes his eyes and moans exaggeratedly. “You were always my favourite Stark,” he mumbles with his mouth full.

Jon chuckles. “Technically I’m not a Stark but thank you, I think.”

“I thought I was your favourite Stark,” Sansa objects from the other side of the table.

“Shireen says Arya’s his favourite,” Rickon shrugs across from them.

Meera snickers next to him. “I bet she is,” she muses, clicking her tongue when Arya throws her a look over her shoulder.

“Why are we even having this conversation,” Robb argues. “We all know _I’m_ his favourite Stark.”

Bran rolls his eyes. “Robb, you’re literally no one’s favourite Stark.”

“He’s right,” Meera agrees. Robb looks high-key offended. “Not even mine. That title belongs to Arya.”

“Ayyyyy,” Arya cheers as she high-fives Meera while Robb gasps in affront.

“My. Absolute. Favourite,” Gendry insists as he chews on a biscuit now, humming contentedly and raising his eyebrows at Jon. “Don’t let anyone ever convince you otherwise.”

Jon grins widely, wagging his eyebrows at Robb who proceeds to sulk while eating Arya’s leftover chips.

They starts wandering through the market when they’re done inhaling their food, enjoying the loud and cramped corners as they make their way through the narrow, spiralling streets. They stop by each booth, marvelling at all the small knickknacks they find. Arya ends up buying a small, wolf-shaped silver ring that she immediately puts on, along with a couple of beautiful hand-crafted arrows that she fully intends on putting to use when she goes back to Storm’s End.

When she notices Gendry starting to shiver, his poor southern ass not quite used to the northern weather, she buys a hand-knit beanie from the nearest stall. She smiles amusedly as she goes to stand in front of him and pushes herself on her toes to place the wool hat on his head, carefully tucking his ears underneath. Gendry’s eyes narrow at first, unsure what she’s doing, but then his features soften into a smile, nose and cheeks flushed from the cold.

They’re almost at the end of the market by then, and she falls back alongside him and Jon, watching as Bran, Jojen, Sansa and Meera start making their way to the ice rink. Robb and Theon follow dutifully, leaving Rickon to linger back and walk alongside Arya, Gendry and Jon.

He looks a little too nervous and Arya has the urge to laugh because really, Gendry’s the last person Rickon should worry about. As long as Shireen’s happy and safe, he doesn’t really give a flying fuck who she’s with. Rickon doesn’t know that, though, and Arya suddenly grins devilishly at all the ways she could mess with her little brother right now.

“So,” she starts out of nowhere, “how’s Shireen enjoying The Reach?”

Gendry raises his eyebrows at her. “Dunno really, I haven’t talked to her today. Probably bored out of her mind.”

“She hates it,” Rickon answers simultaneously. “They keep trying to convince her to move there and she’s worried her dad might actually punch her uncle.” His eyes widen suddenly, realizing the question wasn’t actually meant for him, his cheeks flushing an unnaturally red colour. Arya grins wickedly. “I mean...”

“‘S’alright,” Gendry reassures. Arya can spot the hint of amusement in his voice. “They always try to sway her to stay,” he adds, lips pulling up at the corners. “It’s why she never goes there. As for Davos wanting to hit Selyse’s brother once, I’ve met him once and believe me, you’d want to hit him too if you did.”

“Shireen says the same,” Rickon tells him tentatively. “Says if she ever breaks her non-violence code and throws a punch, it’ll be to deck her uncle.”

Gendry laughs, an affectionate look crossing his features. Rickon relaxes a little.

“That girl could never hurt a fly,” he mumbles. “Tough as nails, though.”

“You better remember that,” Arya warns, eyeing Rickon.

Gendry snorts as Rickon swallows thickly. Gendry might not be the sort to meddle in Shireen’s business, but Arya sure is. She’s grown quite fond of the girl since she’s gotten to know her. But she also knows Rickon is too crazy about her to actually her hurt, so for the most part, she’s doing this to mess with him.

Jon rolls his eyes and shoots Arya a look, silently asking her to back off.

“Reckon I can still skate better than you,” Jon throws casually, trying to save the poor, fumbling boy.

Rickon looks relieved. “Fat chance. You haven’t been near an ice rink in approximately a million years.”

Jon cocks an eyebrow. “Let’s see about that then,” he challenges, pulling Rickon by the arm and nearly sprinting towards the rink. He tumbles just a few steps into their run, falling into the snow and nearly dragging Rickon down with him. Arya and Gendry chuckle as they watch him re-emerge from the snow, pulling down on his beanie and brushing the snow off him. “I’m alright!” He yells to no one in particular before he takes off running again.

Arya smiles as she continues her silent walk with Gendry, enjoying the cold night air.

After a few moments, Gendry clears his throat.

“Can I ask you something?” His voice is a little scratchy, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his jacket. Arya nods. “Why does Sansa refer to Jon as your brother while you call him your cousin?” She’s a little surprised by the question, if she’s being honest. She expected Sansa would’ve told him. But maybe he never asked. She knows for a fact that he’s not the type to pry, letting people come to him instead of pushing them. “You don’t have to…” he trails off, as if making her point.

She shakes her head. “My parents raised Jon as their own,” she interrupts before he can get another word in. She finds that she really doesn’t mind telling Gendry things. And yes, it’s in part because she loves him, but she also trusts him implicitly and knows he would never betray her, which is kind of scary, really, because even if it’s been over half a year, she hasn’t known him that long in the grand scheme of things. “They loved him as their own. So until I was 17, I thought Jon was my brother.”

“But he’s not your brother?”

She shakes her head, staring down at the different sets of footsteps in the snow. She can see Bran’s wheel tracks mixed with them.

“He’s Lyanna’s son. My aunt.”

“The one who left my father at the altar,” Gendry notes.

His voice doesn’t hold any anger, just a simple truth. 

She nods. “She got pregnant really shortly after the failed wedding,” Arya continues. “Jon’s dad didn’t want anything to do with him, so my aunt was going to raise him alone but she only managed to do that for a couple of months. She died in a car crash along with my uncle Benjen. He was the one who was driving. Jon was in the car, it’s how he got that scar on the right side of his face. No one’s really sure how he survived, but he did and mum didn’t want him to grow up with that weight hanging over him, so she convinced dad that they shouldn’t tell him. Robb was too young to remember anything, so they got away with it.”

“How did you find out, then?”

“Some shitty reporter named Baelish,” Arya recounts bitterly. “He wanted to write an exposé on my mum after her death. Started following us around, chasing Sansa and I on our way to school. My dad filed restraining orders but he knew if one reporter was sniffing close, others would soon come. He had to tell us.” She takes a deep breath, trying not to think about the day her dad told them. It was the first time she thought about leaving Winterfell and running away from it all. “It was hard on everyone. With my mum dying and the whole Sansa and Joffrey thing, and then finding out my brother wasn’t actually my brother… it was too much. So I ran. It took me a while to realize it changed nothing. That Jon was as much my brother as he ever was.”

Gendry looks pensive. “But you call him cousin,” he remarks.

“It’s sort of a joke,” Arya shrugs. “Hot Pie had the right idea.” Gendry furrows his brow in confusion. “Wear it like armour and all that,” she explains and his face clears in understanding. “But Jon knows that nothing can ever come between us again. Not even our parents’ fucked up pasts.”

Gendry huffs. “If I had a drink I’d be drinking to that.” Arya smiles, bumping her shoulder with his. “You gonna teach me how to skate then?” He asks after a moment.

“You don’t know how to skate?” Arya asks sceptically.

“I barely know how to walk.”

She snorts loudly. At least he’s self-aware.

“You won’t be able to keep up with me,” she warns, reaching for his hand inside his jacket pocket and pulling him along. Gendry digs his heels, keeping her in place. She turns around to look at him, only to find him watching her with an expression she can’t quite read. Her breath catches in her throat. “What?”

He shakes his head softly after a moment, swallowing thickly before he takes a step forward. Arya starts walking too.

“I already can’t keep up with you,” he murmurs.

Arya tries to ignore the way his voice breaks with affection.

* * *

That night, she can’t sleep.

It’s not that unusual, really, as being back in Winterfell always leaves her rattled. But tonight in particular, her thoughts are running a mile a minute. And it’s not just that her mind is consumed with memories of her mother and all the things she wishes she’d told her and all the ways she misses her. No, tonight it’s much more than that.

It’s her conversation with Theon from a few days back and the fear she has of him and Sansa not figuring their shit out because people sometimes fuck up no matter how much they love each other.

It’s her conversation with Gendry which dug up memories that were now swimming at the forefront of her thoughts. Memories of finding out Jon isn’t her brother, of being unable to breathe for weeks until she had to get out of the house, had to get out of Winterfell and the North and Westeros altogether.

It’s Gendry himself. It’s him and the way he makes her heart race and her palms sweat. It’s the way he can see right through her even when she wants to hide. The way she’s completely unable to keep her mask on around him, when she can do that with everyone else, even those closest to her. It’s the way he drives her crazy and the way she loves him for it.

It’s the way it all fucking terrifies her to the point where she feels the need to get out. To run away again, because it’s easier to bury herself in strange lands with strangers than to allow herself to be vulnerable again.

She gives up on even pretending to try and sleep, getting out of bed and pulling on her hoodie and some thick socks before she makes her way downstairs. She thinks about going out on the porch for a cigarette but decides that it’s too cold outside, even for her. She’ll have to kill her body some other day.

She tiptoes into the family room, surprised to find her father on the couch, buried under her mother’s thick wool blanket. Her heart squeezes in her chest.

“You used to hate that thing.”

Ned looks up from the book he’s reading, glasses perched on his nose.

His face melts into a soft smiles. “It grows on you.” He cocks his head slightly. “Couldn’t sleep, little wolf?”

Arya feels a warmth course through her veins at the nickname. She shrugs, smiling sheepishly. Her father closes the book and takes his glasses off, straightening up on the sofa and making room for her under the blanket. She walks over and plops herself onto the sofa, pulling the blanket up to her neck and inhaling deeply.

She might be imagining it, but she thinks it still smells like her mother, even after all these years. Just a hint of lavender and something more earthy, like the way the damp mud always smelled in those damn Riverlands her mother loved so much.

Her father’s eyes crinkle gently at the corner, his voice rough and mostly unused from living alone. “Did you have fun at the market, then?”

She nods, her lips pulling up at the corners. “Rodrick and Jory wouldn’t let us pay for the pies,” she tells him. They were good pies. “We also went to Luwin’s rink.”

“That old man will be 190 and he’ll still be manning the rink.”

Arya smiles fondly. “He remembered my size and gave me the same pair of skates I used to like when I was younger.”

“He would,” Ned mutters, but Arya doesn’t miss the affection in his tone. “And your friend?” He adds after a moment, trying to sound casual. “Robert’s son?”

“Gendry.”

She doesn’t like it when people refer to him as Robert’s son. Not because there’s anything wrong with that, but because Gendry is so much more than who his parents were or weren’t.

“Gendry,” her father echoes. “Did he manage alright?”

Arya shrugs. “Fell flat on his ass as soon as he stepped on the ice.” Ned chuckles lightly. “Luwin had no patience for that so Sansa and I spent most of the night holding his hands through the basics.” She rolls her eyes fondly, thinking of Gendry narrowing his eyes and closing his hands into fists as he tried to skate on his own. “He’s not exactly light on his feet but I swear when he eventually managed to glide on his own, it was by sheer stubbornness.”

“I know Robert didn’t raise that boy but I can tell you he gets that from him,” her father remarks. “Rob was a damn brute but when he wanted something, not even the old gods or the new ones or the seven themselves could keep him from it.”

“Except for aunt Lyanna,” she mumbles. Ned sighs, a faraway look in his eyes. “Love is horrible,” she adds bitterly.

She catches her father’s attention at that, noting how he turns a curious pair of eyes at her, lips slowly parted as he places his book and glasses on the side table.

“Love is horrible?” He wonders. “How so?”

“It’s unreasonable,” she tells him flatly. “He loved her. She loved Jon’s dad even though she knew he had a wife. In the end they both got their hearts broken and died.”

“Are you calling me and your mother unreasonable, then?” Her father argues softly, a wrinkle appearing between his eyes. “Renly and Loras? Luwin was with Old Nan until she died. That’s almost 60 years. Are we all unreasonable?”

Arya shrugs her shoulders again.

“You’re heartbroken to the point where you refuse to leave this place, even if it’s just to visit us,” she tells him. “Renly and Loras have to fight a world of ignorance and hate every single day simply for wanting to be together. It’s unreasonable.”

“Luwin and Nan?”

“The fact that Old Nan wanted to spend 60 years with that old grump is possibly the most unreasonable thing on this entire earth.”

Ned chuckles in amusement, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Aye, I’ll give you that one,” he concedes.

Arya raises her brows. “But not the rest?”

Ned sighs deeply.

“Your mother and I had a wonderful 22 years together and I wouldn’t change a single thing.” Arya’s brows furrow. “I will never leave this house or this place because it’s my home. Winterfell is where we fell in love.”

“It’s where mum died,” Arya tries.

“This is the house where we got married when she got pregnant with Robb,” Ned tells her before she can get another word in. “You were born on these floors because you were in such a hurry to kick your way out of your mum that you didn’t even give us a chance to make it to the hospital.” He raises his eyebrows pointedly and smiles fondly. Arya rolls her eyes just as she does every time he recounts that story. “It’s where Bran came out to me, and it’s where Jon called me dad even when he knew I wasn’t.” He pauses, looking down at his lap. “I know I should visit you kids in Storm’s End more often, but this is my home. And it’s a good home, little wolf,” he states, looking at her again. “That doesn’t change because some bad things happened here.” Arya pulls her lower lip between her teeth, taking in her father’s words and unconsciously playing with a thread in the blanket. “And sometimes good things can come out of bad things.”

Her brows push harder together as she turns to look at him abruptly, feeling betrayed. Her next words are harsh when she speaks them. “How is mum dying good?”

Ned shakes his head. “It isn’t,” Ned’s gentle voice is a sharp contrast to her bitter tone. She relaxes only a little. “And it’s damn unfair. But if Robert and Lyanna had married, Jon wouldn’t be here. Gendry wouldn’t be here.” Arya halts at that, every argument she has immediately flying out the proverbial window. She can’t imagine a world without Jon. Not one without Gendry either. She feels almost guilty for suddenly being relieved her aunt broke Robert’s heart. ‘You care about him, don’t you?” Arya’s heart leaps to her throat. “This Gendry.”

Arya wants to say yes and admit to her father that she does. But the words stubbornly catch in her throat. Maybe she can only admit it to herself.

Instead, she thinks about that day they visited the cemetery. How angry Gendry was before she convinced him to go. How broken he looked.

“I just don’t think it’s fair that he had to grow up in foster homes just because his father was too bloody heartbroken to raise him,” she answers, the bitterness in her voice biting.

“Robert was my best friend and I loved him but he made some bad choices. You can’t blame that on love, though,” Ned argues again. “Lyanna loved Robert in her own way, but she loved Rhaegar more. She gave everything up to be with him, but then he left her even when he knew she was pregnant. She didn’t take it out on Jon. She made the choice to do right by him because it was never his fault, despite her broken heart.”

Arya mulls it over, trying to make sense of it all. Maybe love doesn’t make you stupid, then. Maybe you just make yourself stupid. Or maybe people do.

Gendry definitely makes her stupid. He makes her flustered and he makes her heart race and her palms sweat. Sometimes he makes her head spin and other times he infuriates her. But he also makes her happy. He makes her laugh. He makes her feel like she matters, like she’s as strong as she knows herself to be, but like she can be vulnerable if she wants to be. Like he wouldn’t leave her to fight her way out of a car crash alone.

When she looks up at her father, his soft eyes are trained on her, a strange expression on his face, like he’s waiting for her to realize something.

She doesn’t get a chance to, though, because she hears the tell-tale pattering of socks against wooden floors. Her eyes flicker to the doorway to find her sister’s tall figure making her way into the room. She’s wearing an oversized knit jumper and some sweats tucked under a pair of thick rainbow socks. Her long hair is left loose around her shoulder, the bright orange locks strangely muted in the low lighting.

Not for the first time, Arya wonders how her sister manages to look like she stepped off a runaway when it’s 4 in the morning and she just woke up.

Sansa’s features melt into a bright smile when she spots them, her eyes flickering from Ned to Arya. Her father immediately scoots over on the couch, making room for her on his other side, and Sansa takes the invitation happily, rushing over to throw herself down next to him.

“I thought you hated that blanket,” Sansa remarks. Ned huffs out a chuckle and Arya’s lips curl up in a smile. “What are you two gossiping about?” she asks after a moment, snuggling under the blanket and leaning her head against Ned’s shoulder.

“How love is unreasonable,” Arya mumbles, leaning against her father’s other side.

Arya feels the soft objection more than she hears it, her father’s hoarse voice rumbling where her head is pressed against his arm. “Arya.”

“It _is_ unreasonable,” Sansa agrees, surprising Arya. As much as she enjoys the fact that she and Sansa agree on a lot of things now, this is one instance where Arya isn’t happy with it. She’s the cynic, not Sansa. No, Sansa’s supposed to believe in love and its magic. “Theon wants to get married,” her sister confesses. Arya’s a little taken aback that Theon actually listened to her and Gendry and talked to Sansa that fast, but she doesn’t say anything. She’s even more surprised when her father doesn’t comment either. Sansa pushes away from Ned’s side, forehead creased as she looks at the both of them. “Neither of you seem that shocked,” she remarks.

Arya twists her neck to look at her sister. “He might’ve mentioned it,” she shrugs, trying to remain casual.

Sansa nods slowly, features twisting into a confused look. “Dad?” Ned raises his eyebrows, a guilty look crossing his features. “Don’t tell me he asked for your blessing,” Sansa whispers, a horrified look crossing her features.

“He didn’t,” Ned reassures quickly, raising his palms to placate her. “He made sure I understood he was decidedly not asking for my blessing,” Ned scoffs. “Said you’d probably dump him into the sea if he tried to insinuate that you needed anyone’s blessing to make your own decision.” Arya doesn’t miss the hint of amusement in her father’s voice. “It was kind of impressive, actually.” He pauses, taking in Sansa’s small relieved chuckle. “No, he said he was just telling me to inform me. Because he didn’t want me to be blindsided.”

Sansa sighs. “He wants to get married,” she repeats, leaning back again.

Arya raises her eyebrows even though she’s sure her sister can’t see her from her vantage point. “And you don’t?” she wonders. “Weren’t you the one who always wanted to get married?”

“I was. I mean, I do.” She sighs, quieting down for a moment. Her voice is breathy when she speaks again. “Theon never wanted to marry. I don’t want him to do something just because he thinks that’s what I want.”

“And he doesn’t want you to give up on something you want just because you think that’s what he wants,” Arya counters.

“Quite the perfect pair, really,” Ned mutters.

Sansa leans forward to look at them again. “How is that perfect?”

“Because you’re willing to compromise for one another and put the other first when you need to,” her father tells her gently. “If you want to get married, he’ll do it for you.”

“But he doesn’t want to,” Sansa insists, her voice breaking.

“He wants to marry _you_ , Sansa,” Arya offers. She might be betraying Theon’s confidence, but this is one time she can make an exception. She doesn’t want something as stupid as crossed wires to cause her sister pain. “It’s not about marriage, for Theon. It’s about you. He’s happy when you’re happy.”

Sansa exhales deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “So what do I do?”

“Whatever you want, love,” Ned tells her, rubbing her back soothingly. “As long as you talk to one another, you’ll be fine.”

“And you’re okay with me getting married?”

“I thought you didn’t care about my blessing?” Ned teases.

Sansa rolls her eyes like she’s been caught, a small annoyed smile colouring her features.

“It’s not your blessing I’m looking for here,” she counters, but her voice sounds amused. “I care about your opinion,” she adds.

Ned shrugs. “It’s your life. I’ve lived mine and made my choices so I don’t get to make yours for you.” Arya smiles next to him. “But if I had to think of someone who was maybe worthy of one of my daughters, I’d say Theon Greyjoy is pretty high up on the list.”

Sansa looks down at her lap, her hair falling down around her face and almost hiding her growing smile.

“Thanks dad,” she mumbles when she looks back up.

She snuggles back into her father, looping her arms around one of his and leaning her head against this shoulder.

Arya settles back on his other side.

For a wild second, she wonders if her father would say the same about Gendry. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> __  
> **Head's up! The story gets its rating from this chapter.**  
> 
> 
> His face sobers up in a hesitant expression, hands tracing the rib tattoo he gave her. “D’you want me to leave?”
> 
> She shakes her head quickly. “No.” She pauses, narrowing her eyes just a bit. “Do you want to leave?”
> 
> “No,” he reassures immediately.

“Ugh, thank fuuuuuck it’s over.”

Gendry groans in agreement as he and Arya make their way inside the house, toeing their snowy boots off by the door.

It’s two days until Christmas and they’ve just come back from Winter Town where they both had some last-minute gifts to get. They both absolutely hate that part of Christmas, especially when it means pushing your way through a mall full of too much noise and way too many people.

Arya hangs her jacket up, looking around. “Anyone here?” She yells, voice echoing in the hallway. When no one answers, she turns to Gendry. “Looks like they took the dogs for a walk. Up for some hot cocoa?”

Gendry smiles lopsidedly. “Sure.” He points at the several packages tucked under his arm. “I’ll just put those under the tree.”

Arya nods before she makes her way into the kitchen and starts pulling out some mugs, along with the jar of cocoa.

Gendry follows her in a few moments later, his footsteps unusually light, probably due to the fact that he only has socks on.

He pauses in front of the fridge, wordlessly studying the old pictures littered across the top half, held together by old, fraying scraps of tape and a few random magnets they collected when they were kids. His eyebrows push together lightly even as he’s smiling, eyes flitting from one photograph to the other.

Arya watches him as she waits for the milk to heat up on the stove. “I know, I look nothing like her,” she tells him after a moment.

Gendry shakes his head. “Actually, I can’t bloody get past how much you and Jon look alike,” he says. “I mean I know that already, but with his hair and beard it’s not as obvious. This picture of him, though,” he points at one of the photos on the fridge, “it’s basically you, minus the braid.”

“And the attitude,” Arya muses, causing Gendry to laugh.

“I don’t think anyone can realistically strive for that,” he teases, eyes mischievous as they look at her. He moves away from the fridge and walks over to lean against the counter next to her. For a second, Arya’s thoughts flash back to the first time they hung out at his place. “Does it bother you?” His question snaps her out of her racing mind. Her brows furrow in question. “That you don’t look like her,” he clarifies.

“It used to,” she admits. “When I was younger. They all look like her. Robb and Sansa and Bran and Rickon. I used to think it made her love me less.” Her eyes glaze over with old memories. “I told her that, once,” she continues. “I remember she laughed and hugged me tight and told me it made her love me more because I looked like dad and he was her favourite person in the world.” She swallows the lump in her throat, trying to keep herself together. “She was so warm.”

For a moment, she’s lost inside her own head. But then she shakes the thoughts away, clearing her throat and looking up at Gendry. His eyes are soft as he takes a step forward, reaching a hand and running his fingers against the side of her neck lightly before he squeezes her shoulder in comfort. She doesn’t think about it when she laces her fingers with his on her shoulder.

“I didn’t look like mine, either,” he says after a moment. “I don’t remember her but I have a picture,” he explains, trying to sound casual, but Arya can see the pain in his eyes. She wonders if he’s holding on to her for his own sake too. Her fingers tighten around his. “Had yellow hair and brown eyes. A wisp of a thing, really, and quite pale. Me, on the other hand, I’m a Baratheon through and through.”

“I bet she loved you anyway,” Arya tells him softly. “It’s hard not to,” she adds and Gendry’s gaze clears, his blue eyes suddenly piercing as they take her in.

He leans forward ever-so-slightly before he seems to think better of it, but that’s all the encouragement Arya needs. She presses forward and stands on the tip of her toes to close the distance between them, her hand snaking up to his face and resting on his cheek as she kisses him.

She pulls away before he has time to respond properly. Gendry exhales sharply as he opens his eyes, lips parting before he leans forward again and kisses her back, much more urgently this time. His hand tangles in her hair, the other one pulling her closer to him by her waist.

Arya’s tongue darts into his mouth as she starts moving backwards, pulling him along by the collar until her back hits the kitchen island. She sucks hungrily on his lower lip but he pulls away, and she’s not even bothered to hide the frustrated whimper that bubbles up her throat, her lips following his greedily. She feels more than hears Gendry’s chuckle as he helps her up the counter. Her arms immediately snake back around his neck as he comes to stand between her legs, fingers losing themselves in his hair as his lips meet hers again, kissing and sucking and licking his way into her mouth until she can’t feel anything but him.

He gasps when she pulls away, clearly as out of breath as she is, before he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her throat and the side of her neck. She pulls him even closer, her shins coming to rest against the back of his knees, trapping him completely. She can feel him smile even as he’s kissing her and her hands travel down his chest to untuck his layers from below his pant waist.

When she finally finds an opening, she doesn’t hesitate before pressing her fingers to his stomach, causing him to hiss and pull away in surprise.

Arya grins mischievously as she looks at him.

“A little warning that your fingers are fucking icicles next time,” he grunts before he leans forward again, lips sucking harshly below her ear.

She pulls away again, raising her eyebrows when he turns a dazed pair of eyes to her. “Next time?”

He fumbles slightly, mouth opening and closing, not unlike a fish. He shakes his head before closing the distance again to catch her lips.

Though she’s curious about what he wanted to say, this feels so good that she can’t help but give in, smiling against his mouth as his fingers dig sharply into her sides.

She trails her hands down his chest again, reaching to unbutton his jeans, when they hear the front door unlock, the sound of voices echoing around the house.

Arya gasps as Gendry pulls away swiftly. He reaches over to smooth her hair back and wipe away what she guesses is some smudged eyeliner off her left cheek. She helps him tuck his shirt back in quickly, laughing when she notices the small bulge in his pants. She can’t stop herself from pulling him over by the waist of his jeans, pressing her lips to his for another fleeting second.

His cheeks are flushed and the smile on his face is wider than she’s ever seen it.

She faintly registers Nymeria and Ghost running into the kitchen and barking excitedly at them as she forces herself to push him away and jump off the counter. Her dogs circle around her for a moment before they move their attention back to Gendry.

Robb, Ned and Sansa appear in the kitchen doorway not a second later.

“You’re back,” Ned comments, walking over to Arya and leaning down to press a soft kiss to her hair.

She adds the cocoa to the now foaming milk, trying her hardest to look casual.

She shrugs. “We finished early.” She goes for her most innocent smile, practically batting her eyelashes at her father. Her eyes find Sansa’s and she doesn’t miss the entirely-too-suspicious look on her sister’s face. She turns her attention back to her dad. “Hot cocoa?”

Ned and Robb nod happily before they leave the kitchen while Sansa continues to stare at her suspiciously, her gaze traveling back and forth between her and Gendry. Finally, she walks over to Arya, eyebrows raised knowingly. She reaches for Arya’s hair casually, pulling a thick strand from her messy braid and tucking it down the side of her neck.

Sansa’s fingers lightly brush the spot under her ear where Gendry was sucking a kiss just moments before.

“You bruise just as easily as I do,” her sister mutters before she turns to look at Gendry. She notes his dishevelled hair and flushed cheeks and the way his hands are strategically folded in front of his pelvic area. “You’re even worse,” she mumbles, rolling her eyes and exiting the kitchen.

Arya feels a laugh bubble through her chest as Nymeria barks excitedly again while Gendry groans and hides his face into his palms.

* * *

Later, when everyone has gone to bed, she finds Gendry in the hallway and grabs his hand before she pulls him into her bedroom, locking the door behind them.

* * *

She’s very much aware that she’s been acting like a creep for the last 15 minutes and she wants to bloody kick herself for it.

She didn’t mean to, really. It’s just that she woke up early, not really used to having someone sharing her bed, and Gendry was just _right there,_ naked and tattooed and really more fucking beautiful than any man has a right to be _._ And he looked so peaceful when her eyes settled on him, and once she started staring she couldn’t stop, her thoughts drifting back to a few hours before as she watched him.

She’s become the creepy lady who stares at people when they sleep.

Well, maybe not people. Just _him_. Which isn’t saying much, she’s still acting like a creep.

She sighs, accepting her fate as her eyes land on Gendry’s sleeping form again. She takes in the muscles in his arms and his shoulder blades, eyes travelling to the curve at the small of his back. She notices the faint red marks from where her fingers must’ve gripped him a little harder than she intended. Her thoughts immediately drift back to the way his tongue flicked over her nipple and the way his fingers knew exactly where to rub and where to push and where to press and the way she had to bite into his shoulder to keep from screaming loud enough for everyone in the whole damn house to hear.

As if sensing her eyes on him, Gendry stirs and turns on his side until he’s facing her, brows furrowed lightly in his sleep.

Unbidden, her hand reaches out to the side of his face, thumb smoothing the offending wrinkle before she runs her fingers through his black hair, stroking ever-so-softly.

His mouth curves into a small smile even as his eyes remain closed, and he angles his head slightly to the left to press a soft kiss to her wrist before he snakes one hand around her waist, pulling her flush against him and hiding his face in her neck.

He hums appreciatively and Arya thinks it’s probably because he realizes she’s still naked, his chin brushing her nipple, his cock already half-hard against her thigh. She wraps her arms tighter around him, unable to stop herself from pressing a kiss to his hair as she cards her fingers through his short, dark strands.

He hums again. “You’re not gonna sneak out on me this time?”

His voice is thick with sleep, breath fanning on her skin. His stubble tickles her breast as his fingers travel down her lower back, stopping at the curve of her ass and trailing back up.

She swallows thickly.

“Can’t,” she mumbles, breath hitching as he presses a small kiss to her collarbone. “It’s my house. Got nowhere to go.” He chuckles lightly, his entire body shaking against hers, and she can’t help the wide smile that takes over her face. He pulls back just enough to look at her, blue eyes meeting grey as Arya lets her hands travel down to his waist, her fingers leaving a trail of goose bumps on his skin.

His face sobers up in a hesitant expression, hands tracing the rib tattoo he gave her. “D’you want me to leave?”

She shakes her head quickly. “No.” She pauses, narrowing her eyes just a bit. “Do you want to leave?”

“No,” he reassures immediately.

She nods, scooching a little closer. “But don’t ask me what this is or what it means,” she pleads in a low voice after a moment, swallowing thickly and leaning forward to leave a small kiss at the corner of his lips. “Just...” she pulls back, fingers carding through his hair again. “If you can, just go with it.”

Gendry nods wordlessly before he leans forward to kiss her and she wastes no time in deepening the kiss, reaching for his cock and biting on his lower lip when he flicks her nipple with his thumb in passing, trailing down to press his hand between her thighs.

She moans into his mouth, halting his movements and pushing him away. His features twist into a confused frown, but he relaxes when he realizes what she’s doing, lips curling up lazily when she pins him on his back and straddles him in one swift motion. Her face is taken over entirely by the wicked smile she gives him as she leans down to kiss him again.

She parts his lips with her tongue, sucking a little too eagerly, and she feels his cock twitch against the curve of her ass. She grins wider, eyebrows raising devilishly as she pulls away to look at him. He looks so soft underneath her that she can’t help but lean down and leave a trail of kisses on his tattooed collarbone.

She shifts down a little lower, already wet when she brushes the tip of his cock, knees coming to rest on either side of his hips.

She rolls her hips lightly, enjoying the way he feels against her. Gendry sighs, hands coming up to rest on her waist.

She arches her eyebrows in a silent question.

“Wallet.”

She smirks as she reaches one hand down to his cock, circling the tip before stroking his shaft a few times, enjoying the way he hums in the back of his throat.

She pauses to lean over him and reach down towards the floor to locate his discarded jeans. Her hand searches blindly for a minute before she feels the thick fabric between her fingers, finding the pocket and grabbing his wallet. She straightens up and throws it onto his chest, rolling her hips once more and moaning when the tip brushes against her clit.

Gendry sighs in pleasure as he grabs the condom and hands it to her, throwing his wallet blindly on the bedside table.

She tears the packet apart with her teeth, grinning as Gendry’s hooded eyes watch her with awe. She strokes him a few more times before she shifts to sit back against his thighs and slip the condom on, moving forward again and using her hand to line them up. Her eyes nearly roll back into her head when Gendry lifts his hips lightly, brushing the tip of his cock against her slit.

He smiles at the way she shivers but she tries to keep it together, her eyes trained on his as she perches herself on her knees before she sinks down slowly, enveloping him completely inside of her, both of them gasping in pleasure.

She leans down to kiss him and he meets her halfway, pushing himself to find her lips hungrily as she starts moving slowly. Gendry bites on her lower lip as he hisses, hands snaking around her waist and gripping her ass, fingers digging roughly into her skin and sending sparks of tingling pleasure through her spine when he lifts her up once more and helps her down, sheathing himself completely into her.

She repeats the motion, this time rolling her hips experimentally as she sinks back onto him.

“Keep going like that and I won’t last for long,” he warns.

The way his voice scratches sends a jolt of excitement through her and she starts moving faster, harder, somehow feeling him more intensely with every single thrust. Gendry keeps his hands firmly on her ass as he starts matching her rhythm thrust for thrust, pushing upwards every time she sinks down on him, until she doesn’t know where she ends and where he begins.

She leans forward to kiss him again, panting against his lips. “You’ll make it up to me in other ways,” she manages, her voice breaking when he lets go of her mouth and leans forward to flick his tongue over one of her nipples blindly. He uses one of his hands to properly grasp her tit and suck on the dark pink nub, before he moves it down between them to rub against her clit. She gasps in surprise, not ready for the small burst of stars behind her lids.

She laughs at her own reaction, small jolts of pleasure and excitement coursing through her when she feels him smiling against her breast. His eyes are mischievous when they look up at her from under his lashes, hungry and soft and piercing all at once, his tongue rolling over her nipple tantalizingly slow. It’s more intense than anything she’s ever felt, the build-up coursing through her forcefully, beautifully, and she’s pretty sure she won’t last long either. “Okay, so we’ll both make up for it later,” she amends.

Gendry pulls back and lets out a breathless chuckle, reaching with his free arm to tug her face down to his. It’s not the most comfortable angle but she makes it work, if only for the way his cock is now hitting the exact right spot she needs with every frenetic thrust, pleasure building overwhelmingly inside her and ready to burst any moment now.

“Bloody— fucking— Arya, I...”

“I know,” she cuts him off, kissing him hungrily and nodding against him. “It’s okay, let go, I’m right there with you,” she mumbles against his lips, rolling her hips one last time before Gendry lets out another string of curses as he comes inside of her.

He keeps thrusting for a few moments, his breathing irregular and his movement sloppy, but it’s enough to send her over the edge with him. Her walls contract as her arms hold him close to her, muffling her cry into his shoulder. She lets go to fist the sheets on either side of them and hold on as his fingers continue their ministrations on her clit, sending ripples and jolts and wave after wave of pleasure coursing through her entire body.

She collapses on top of him soon after, giggling at the very unattractive slap their sweaty bodies make when they collide.

They’re both breathing hard, completely spent, and Arya wonders once again why the bloody fuck they waited so long to this again.

“That was…” she trails off, still breathing hard.

Gendry nods underneath her, his chin bumping into her head. “Yes. Yes, it was.”

She chuckles again as she presses a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to his chest.

After a few moments, Gendry grabs her hips and shifts her body until he slips out of her, taking off the condom and tying it before he throws it away. He shifts again, grabbing her waist and pushing her off him until she’s lying on her back next to him. Her eyes furrow in question, but he only lowers his head to her ribcage and presses two open-mouthed kisses to her stomach, one on each of her scars.

His cheeks are still flushed and the smile he gives her sends a feeling of warmth that spreads from the spot where his lips ghosted her scars and through her entire body.

He lies on his back again before he pulls her half on top of him, fingers tracing shapes over her arms as she rest her head against his chest, their legs tangling together.

“I should get back to my room if we don’t want everyone finding out about his,” he murmurs after a few moments.

She sighs. She doesn’t want him to leave. Ever. But she doesn’t want everyone finding out about this right now. Not before she herself understands what the fuck is going on.

“You should,” she agrees.

Neither of them makes a move to let go, shifting on the bed to hold each other closer instead.

Her bedsprings creak alarmingly.

“I don’t think this bed was made for this kind of strenuous activity,” Gendry comments lightly, fingers trailing down her neck, over the curve of her breast and down to the tattoo on her stomach.

She grins. “I don’t think anyone’s childhood bed is made for this kind of strenuous activity.”

Gendry laughs openly, fingers still tracing patterns wherever they can reach.

Her scars still prickle from where he kissed them before.

* * *

Arya wants to do it again. She’s pretty sure Gendry’s on board with that plan.

* * *

Except that, as ridiculous as it sounds, they don’t find the time to do anything beyond sneaking a few kisses here and there.

Their last days in Winterfell are a blur of presents and Christmas feasts and all sorts of people coming to visit.

It’s fun, really, but by the time they make it back to Storm’s End two days before New Year’s, Arya is more than ready for a less crowded living arrangement.

The only part she doesn’t like about going back is that Gendry disappears as soon as they get there, staying over at Davos and Shireen’s for a couple of nights, and she only sees him again at Missandei and Grey’s party on New Year’s Eve.

They spend much of the night passing drinks and cigarettes back and forth, keeping a safe distance between them.

It’s when the clock strikes 12 that Arya finally thinks _fuck it_ before she walks closer to Gendry, cocking one eyebrow at him. When he reaches to grip her shirt at the waist, she pushes herself up on her toes, her hands wrapping instinctively around his neck as she pulls his head down to meet her lips. She feels his mouth spread into a tipsy smile against hers, hands snaking their way to the small of her back and pressing her close.

She doesn’t know what she expects to find when they finally pull apart, but to her relief, there’s not much fuss. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but Jon only raises his eyebrows in amusement, lips swollen from spending half the night making out with Ygritte, while Sansa just gasps an “I knew it!”in the most Sansa way possible.

Gendry’s hand is still on the small of her back when Missandei’s arms wrap around Arya’s neck and she presses a sloppy kiss to her mouth, yelling out “Happy New Year!” before she does the same to Gendry.

Arya watches in amusement as Missandei continues to make the rounds, raising her eyebrows at Grey when he comes to stand next to them.

“Can’t say she’s not a dedicated hostess,” he mumbles, watching his girlfriend with unbridled adoration.

Gendry chuckles next to Arya, leaning back against the railing and spreading his arms on either side of him. Arya leans close to him, propping herself against his right arm.

“Cheers to that.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you want to talk about it?”
> 
> Arya doesn’t move, barely acknowledging the words spoken to her.
> 
> “You don’t have to be strong and keep it all in. I can handle it.”
> 
> “There’s nothing to handle, Gendry. I’m fine.”
> 
> She’s not.

The simple familiarity of it leaves her terrified.

“Inevitable,” Sansa calls it two days after New Year’s.

She tells her it was always meant to happen and Arya laughs because there’s no such thing as things that are supposed to happen. She makes her own choices. And she chose to sleep with Gendry.

When Sansa asks if Arya chose to fall for him, she shakes her head, trying to keep her tone confident when she tells her sister she’s not in love with him. That it doesn’t mean anything, even if they like what they’re doing.

* * *

It comes naturally to him. It comes naturally to her too.

Things stay the same.

They have movie nights with Sansa and Theon and he hangs out at the pub when she has shifts and he comes down from his apartment to wake her up on mornings when she has class.

Things change.

On movie nights, he’ll sometimes fall asleep on her shoulder halfway through whatever film they’re watching, arms coming up to snake around her. And when someone asks for her number at the pub when he’s not around, she doesn’t give it to them anymore. And sometimes she’ll wake him up with kisses and the promise of a lazy morning fuck because he’s already in her bed, an underlying promise of always being there now.

It rattles her because people can’t make such promises. Or they can make them, but they just can’t keep them. She can’t.

They bicker and argue and flirt and it doesn’t feel different, but it is different because every time he pisses her off, she gets to silence him off with a kiss.

And it happens _a lot_.

And sometimes he will give in and kiss her back and other times he will pull away despite her protests and continue his argument because he’s stubborn and he’s definitely not a pushover so he won’t always back out of a fight easily, no matter how much he likes kissing her.

He tries to talk about what they’re doing once but she brushes him off and he doesn’t bring it up again. He never did press her to do things she didn’t want to.

It scares the living crap out of her because that’s not how the real world works and she knows it. They have to talk about it.

People don’t care so unconditionally. Good things don’t _last_.

She wants this to last but she thinks she’ll run.

* * *

Shireen and Rickon get into a car accident as they’re riding back from some party one night, Tommen Lannister behind the wheel. He swerves to avoid some dead animal in the middle of the road and ends up driving straight into a tree.

They get off mostly unscathed, Tommen and Rickon only suffering from mild concussions and a few cuts and bruises that are expected to heal quickly. Shireen thankfully doesn’t get hurt.

It’s enough, though. It reminds her how fast things can go wrong.

The wait at the hospital is the worst part. She keeps pacing back and forth, eyes wide open as she waits for news. She can’t blink because any time she does that, her vision is filled with flashes of a dark night in Braavos when she had to crawl through the window of a caved-in car, shards of glass piercing through her skin. She remembers dragging her heavy body away from the car, miraculously managing to escape the vehicle before it tipped over the bridge.

That night, they stay over at Davos’, keeping Rickon and Shireen under surveillance.

Arya’s chest hurts the entire time, even as she throws on one of Gendry’s old shirts before she crawls into his bed in his old room, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding him tight.

Her throat closes up at the way he instantly pulls her close, lips pursed against her forehead, arms coming up to play with her hair.

She’s going to lose him too, she can feel it.

* * *

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Arya doesn’t move, barely acknowledging the words spoken to her.

“You don’t have to be strong and keep it all in. I can handle it.”

“There’s nothing to handle, Gendry. I’m fine.”

She’s not.

* * *

She’s sitting on her living room couch a few days later, flipping idly through the channels when Sansa walks into the house, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy as she complains angrily to no one in particular.

“Stupid, stubborn, no-good idiot who can’t even bloody see—“ She pauses, throwing her keys harshly on the table by the door, her hands coming up to her face for a minute. “Won’t even fight it, FUCK—“

Gendry straightens up on the sofa next to Arya. “Sansa?” He calls out to her, voice laced with worry.

Arya’s heart plummets in her chest when Sansa walks closer to them, her dishevelled state sounding alarm bells in her head. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s over!” Sansa yells, her voice disbelieving as she rubs her face and moves to pace the room in front of them. “I’m fucking done.”

Arya’s ears start buzzing. “Sansa,” she whispers breathlessly. She can’t be saying what she thinks she’s saying.

“What happened?” Gendry asks next to her.

“He’s being a complete fucking unreasonable idiot,” Sansa growls angrily, frustration boiling to the surface and manifesting in a humourless chuckle. “Won’t fucking see any sense.” She pauses her pacing for a minute, turning to look at them. “We got mugged on the way back home last night. Some fucker with a huge kitchen knife.”

“You WHAT?”

Sansa completely ignores Arya’s question, powering through.

“Theon froze. We both did.” She laughs again. “I’m not made for these kinds of situations, we all know that, and Theon... well,” she trails off, blinking a few times before she sits down on the nearest armchair. She runs her fingers through her hair exasperatedly before she looks up at Arya and Gendry again. “Sometimes he just can’t,” she tells them. “His past catches up to him and it gets too much and he can’t handle things,” she rambles, shaking her head. “I fucking _get_ that. Seven hells, the guy had a bloody knife. No one expects him not to be scared!”

“Okay, but are you okay?” Gendry tries, standing up and walking closer to her. “Did he hurt you?”

She turns her head abruptly to stare at him, eyes flashing with anger. “You think Theon would ever hurt me?”

Gendry sighs. “The mugger,” he clarifies. “Did he hurt either of you?”

Sansa’s face clears as she shakes her head. “He didn’t hurt us. I got my pepper spray out when I was reaching for some money. We ran away as soon as I sprayed him, before he could do more than double down in pain. Went straight to the nearest pub and called the cops. They’re trying to find him or whatever.” Her hands come up to rub her face again. “Theon thinks he can’t protect me. Says I shouldn’t be with him.” Her voice breaks as she slumps down on the armchair, letting out a strangled sob. “He’s blaming himself, the idiot!”

“It’s not his fault,” Arya says automatically, her throat closing up.

“I know that! You think I don’t know that?” Sansa shoots back in frustration, lashing out at her sister. “He was doing so much better too,” she adds, rubbing her eyes harshly for a moment. “And now it’s back to fucking square one.”

She sounds defeated. Arya hates it.

She feels Gendry turn to look at her but she keeps her eyes firmly on her sister.

He sighs after a few moments, walking forward and leaning in front of Sansa. His hands come up to rest on Sansa’s shoulders, patiently waiting for her to look up at him.

When her eyes finally find his, he nods almost imperceptibly. “You’ve been through worse,” he reminds her. “We both know that. In the end, you always figure it out.”

Sansa nods. “I know.” Her voice is low and hoarse now, barely above a whisper.

Gendry clears his throat. “‘He at Yara’s?” Sansa nods again. He squeezes her shoulders gently before he stands up, turning to look at Arya as he tucks his phone and wallet into his back pocket. She keeps her eyes firmly on the ground. He lingers in front of them for another minute before he sighs again. “I’ll be back later,” he mumbles to no one in particular.

Arya doesn’t look up until he’s gone, her eyes flickering to the space he just vacated. She swallows thickly, trying not to let her panic swallow her whole.

She moves silently to the armchair her sister is slumped on, squeezing herself next to her, so close that they’re touching from shoulder to knee.

She needs this. She needs to feel Sansa next to her. She shifts and reaches for her sister’s hand, linking their fingers together.

Sansa breathes deeply, grip tightening around Arya’s fingers. They don’t speak.

* * *

She closes her eyes and sees her mother, her skin pale and her eyes lifeless and discoloured.

She sees her dad hunched over her mother’s side, body wracked with sobs.

She sees Bran falling off a tree, Bran stretchered away in an ambulance, Bran in a wheelchair he’ll never get out of.

She sees Jaqen telling her to forget her family. To forget her life and to forget her home and to pray to his god.

She sees her aunt Lyanna lying in a pool of her own blood, her uncle Benjen next to her. She can hear the cries of a baby, but she can’t see him anywhere. Suddenly Lyanna’s body morphs into her own, and she’s the one now sprawled across the pavement, her body bent awkwardly, half of it stuck under the chewed up car. Benjen’s eyes suddenly turn into the most familiar shade of blue, his hair shorter and darker than it was moments before, his beard replaced by a light stubble. She realizes with absolute horror that she’s staring at Gendry’s face now, his body bloodied and broken, eyes lifeless as they stare back at her.

Arya wakes up startled, gasping for air, cold sweat covering her entire body.

She reaches out to her left but Gendry isn’t next to her. Her heart plummets into her stomach and her throat closes up before she remembers that she asked him to stay in his apartment tonight. Told him that she needed some space.

It’s better, this way. It’ll be easier when it ends.

* * *

There’s nothing special about the day it ends, other than that it’s especially bright, the sun filtering sharply through the curtains and waking her up way too early.

It takes her a minute to realize she’s not in her room, and she remembers that she’d gone straight to Gendry’s after her shift the night before. She hadn’t been planning on it, but then she went into the elevator and found herself pressing the button to his floor instead of hers.

She’d kissed him as soon as he opened the door, pushing him into his bedroom and touching every part of him that her hands could reach as his lips travelled to her neck.

She’d lain on her back as soon as they were near the mattress, helping him take off his shirt before she’d pulled him down on top of her.

She usually liked it better when she was on top but the night before had been different. The need to feel his weight on top of her was overwhelming. She wanted to feel his grounding presence, pinning her in place and keeping her from floating away.

She shifts in bed now, turning to look at him for a second. She takes in his black hair, pink lips and flushed cheeks, the strong tattooed arm wrapped loosely around her waist.

She loves him, which is really bad because it means he can hurt her. Or worse, she can hurt him. She probably will, she always ends up hurting the ones she loves one way or another.

And even if by some miracle they don’t fuck each other up, then life will hurt them. She’s lived long enough to know life fucks everyone, even those who don’t deserve it.

Gendry sure doesn’t deserve it, but life will get to him too. She might as well make sure she’s not there to see it.

* * *

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Gendry doesn’t look up at her when she speaks the words, face contorting into a humourless smile as he stares down at his plate, shoving the last of his toast into his mouth.

He chews slowly, waiting to swallow before he speaks.

“I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to stop being an ass and actually get to it,” he mutters darkly. His gaze flickers to hers. “Do what, exactly?”

She’s completely taken aback by the anger in his eyes.

Her resolve breaks for only a second before she powers through.

 _It’s better_ , she lies to herself.

“This,” she tells him, gesturing between the two of them. “Us. I can’t be with you.”

His lips set into a thin line as he pushes himself off the chair, turning his back to her and walking over to the sink. “I never asked you to be with me.”

She lifts one eyebrow even though he can’t see her, crossing her arms in front of her. “But you’re going to.”

“How could you know that?” He asks sharply, turning around and leaning against the counter. “We never talk about what’s between us.”

She feels an intense pain shoot up in her chest at the accusation. He’s right, of course. They don’t talk, not about this. “So you’re never going to want more than this?”

He looks like he wants to argue but then he thinks better on it, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing as he looks at her. “What do you want from me, Arya?”

“I don’t want you to do something stupid that will ruin this.”

It’s not what she wants to say, but she’s getting defensive and that always gets the better of her.

He snorts, nothing humorous about the sound. “Me, ruin this?” She can hear the disbelief in his tone. “ _You’re_ bloody telling me it’s over and _I’m_ the one who’s ruining this?”

“Because I don’t want you to do or say something stupid that we’ll both regret later!” She argues, her voice rising.

He shakes his head. “I’m not in the habit of doing things without thinking them through or saying things that I don’t mean,” he tells her. “So believe me, there will be no regrets on my part.”

“And you think there will be on mine?” She shoots back, eyes narrowing, the bitterness in her voice evident. “Is that what you’re saying?”

He pushes off the counter and takes one step in her direction, staying on his side of the kitchen.

“I’m saying you’re scared and you think that pushing me away will somehow make this all better,” he answers, voice higher. “But it fucking won’t.”

Her eyebrows furrow in anger. “I’m not scared!”

She is. She is absolutely fucking terrified.

He huffs out something between a sigh and a laugh, shaking his head again.

“Whatever, Arya,” he mutters, taking a deep breath and calming down as he looks down at the ground. He lifts his eyes back up to meet hers after a moment, slowly, carefully. “I’m not Jaqen,” he whispers, catching her off guard. “I’m not Freya, or Joffrey, or any of the people who’ve hurt you. I wouldn’t hurt your sister, or force you to be anything you don’t want to be or forget your family, and I would never leave you.”

“You can’t promise that,” she argues immediately, voice catching as tears pool at the corner of her eyes. She blinks them down forcibly. She won’t fucking cry. “My mum promised to never leave my dad and she did anyway.”

“Your mother was sick, Arya,” he pleads. “She had no choice-“

She shakes her head before he can say more.

“What about Theon, then? He has a choice and he’s _choosing_ to walk away from Sansa.”

The words taste bitter on her tongue.

“Theon and Sansa are going to be fine,” he reassures her softly. “They’ve been through worse. Sometimes life still catches up to them, but Theon will get his shit together. He always does. He _will_ fix it.”

“You don’t know that,” Arya whispers. “And it’s not just that. Shireen and Rickon could’ve _died_ last week!”

He shakes his head again. “But they didn’t. They’re fine.”

She feels another rush of frustration course through her.

“You can’t just wish everyone to be fine, Gendry,” she tells him angrily.

“I’m not fucking wishing everyone to be fine,” he shoots back, voice rising again. She’s getting under his skin. She always does, eventually. “They are fucking fine!” He pauses, eyes trained on hers. “Can things go wrong sometimes? Yes. Will they? Probably. But you sitting here worrying about all the ways life can go tits up isn’t going to help anyone. It’s not helping me, it’s not helping you and it’s certainly not helping them. And anyway, I just don’t see what any of this has to do with us. With this.”

Her heart leaps into her throat at the word us. She can’t be an us. She can’t depend on someone that way, it’s too hard.

It’s not lost on her that he’s already that for her. All the more reason to get out of this now.

“There’s just too many things that can go wrong.”

“Life is not out to get you,” he argues weakly, sounding defeated.

She shakes her head. “I think we’re better off as friends.”

He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment and calming himself before he walks over to her side of the kitchen.

“Five minutes ago, you didn’t want anything to do with me,” he states, voice low. “And then you didn’t want anything ruining this.” His hands come up to gesture back and forth between the two of them. “And now you want to be friends.”

“Gendry...”

“Look, Arya,” he interrupts, her name heavy on his tongue. “I’ll make this easy for you. You don’t have to push me away because I’m pulling myself out.” She swallows her gasp. His eyebrows raise as he shakes his head, mouth twisting in a frown. “I’ve been in one emotionally manipulative relationship and it drained the fuck out of me.” His voice breaks on the last word and he continues to shakes his head, closing his eyes to keep it together. Arya wants to reach out to him, but the bitter taste in her mouth is too strong to ignore. “I know what I want,” he continues after a moment. “And that’s you. But you don’t want me in the same way, and that’s fine. That’s your right. I just can’t do this again.”

She feels the anger grow within her. Her eyebrows crash together.

“It’s funny because I could’ve swore you _just_ said you would never leave me,” she spits out. “And now you’re saying you’re out?”

“I won’t leave you,” he promises and it hurts because she believes him. “I’ll still live two floors away, and if you really need me for something other than to warm your sheets, I’ll be there. I just can’t be this person,” he adds, motioning vaguely between them. “I can’t be the one you go to when you want to feel good and then push away when things get a little bad.”

She feels her throat close up. “You said I had the right to change my mind,” she whispers.

His eyebrows push together in confusion for a moment before his face clears, and she knows he remembers the conversation they had when they first agreed to be friends.

“I did,” he agrees. “And you clearly have, so I don’t see what we’re doing here arguing about it.” He looks down to the floor for a moment, sighing deeply, before he takes a step back and lifts his eyes back to hers. “Look, I have to go. Shireen is waiting for me, we’re signing the deed for the house today.”

She wants him to stay, to argue some more and tell her all the reasons why this is a bad idea, why they should stay together. But she’s distracted by his words. He’s her friend first and foremost, and she knows transferring the deed of the house is a big deal for him.

“When are you telling Davos?” She asks instead because she can’t help but care.

His face hardens for a moment before he swallows thickly and settles on a blank look. “This afternoon.”

_Do you want me to be there?_

She doesn’t ask.

He lingers in front of her for another few seconds, looking like he wants to say something else. He blinks a few times before he breathes deeply. “I’m off,” he settles on. “You know your way out.”

It feels like a punch in the gut.

He turns away and walks out immediately, leaving her alone in his kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tiptoes out of the room*


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya sighs. “Gendry and I had a fight.”
> 
> “Okay…” Sansa mutters, eyebrows crashing together. “And?”
> 
> Arya shrugs. “And nothing,” she replies, trying to keep her tone casual. “We had a fight and now things are weird.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so some of you will notice that the chapter count just jumped to 14 instead of the previously expected 13.  
> Thing is, I added a few scenes to the last part and expanded some bits because when I originally wrote the last few scenes, I was in a hurry to get my ideas out and knew I would properly develop it all later.  
> Point is, I had to split this chapter into two parts because it was getting too long, so the fic is now 14 chapters (and over 52k words). Which I think is good news because a lot of you were telling me that you were sad the story was about to end, so here's one more chapter!  
> Also, the other good news is this means you get two chapters instead of one today :)

She’s slumped on the couch two days later, scrolling idly through her Instagram feed, trying to distract herself from replaying the last conversation she had with Gendry in his kitchen, when the front door opens and in comes Theon, duffel bag slung on his shoulder.

He halts in the doorway, offering her a weak smile when all she does is stare blankly at him, before walking into his room. He comes back out a few minutes later, making a beeline for the living room and slumping down on the couch next to her.

For a while, she doesn’t move, a mix of emotions rushing through her, relief and anger and affection and frustration battling for dominance.

She finally gives up on pretending she’s okay, throwing her phone to the side and arching her eyebrows as she turns to look at him.

“You’re back, then?”

Her voice holds none of the relief she actually feels deep inside of her, nor any of the affection she holds for the man next to her.

He sighs. “I’m back,” he echoes.

She hums. “You know you can’t just run away on her every time things get difficult,” she tells him flatly.

His face is taken over by a guilty look. She almost feels bad.

“I know,” he whispers. “Believe me, I know.”

“No, Theon,” she barks, straightening up and angling her body so she’s sitting sideways on the couch. “You don’t. You weren’t here,” she states blankly. “I love you, but Sansa’s my sister.” Her tone is biting and her voice is louder than she intends but he takes it silently, nodding. “She’s been trying to stay strong and not to let it get to her, but she was a fucking wreck this entire week.”

“I know, Arya,” he repeats, closing his eyes and running a hand over his face. “I fucking hate putting her through that.”

Arya wills herself to calm down, suddenly realizing how little she’s helping the situation. He’s being hard enough on himself as it is.

“I don’t like seeing either of you hurt,” she admits.

“I know,” he reassures quickly. “I’m sorry I walked out.” He pauses, looking up at her from under his lashes. “On her and you.”

Arya sighs heavily, dropping her head down for a few seconds before looking back up at him.

She reaches one hand to hold his own in his lap, squeezing his fingers lightly.

“Just don’t do it again,” she orders, voice low. Theon nods silently, a tentative half-smile forming on his lips. Arya returns it before she pulls back her hand, turning to lean back against the couch. She grabs the controllers on the side table and throws one into Theon’s lap. “What made you pull your head out of your ass and come back?” She asks as she presses the _on_ button on the controller, waiting for the console to boot up.

“The same person who always seems to know exactly how to get me to pull my shit together,” Theon mumbles. “Gendry.” Arya’s heart squeezes at the name, a sharp pain shooting through her body and lodging itself in her throat. “He stopped by Yara and Dany’s every day since it happened,” he continues as Arya tries to keep her emotions from showing. “He was being all understanding and trying to, like, gently nudge me in the right direction. Until two days ago.”

Her brows furrow. “What happened two days ago?”

“He dropped by and laid it on me _thick._ ” Theon pauses for a moment to start up a new round and Arya tries to distract herself by selecting her player. “I don’t know why he was so angry but I’ve rarely seen him like this,” he adds. Arya feels hot shame course through her body and pooling uncomfortably in her stomach. She made him like this. “But it was what I needed to get my ass into gear. Sansa and I talked yesterday and I went to see my therapist this morning.”

Her mind is still on Gendry, but she tries to focus on the other important part of his statement.

“And?”

“I love her,” Theon shrugs, like it explains everything. In some ways it does. “Whatever other shit I have going on doesn’t change that. We can figure it out together.”

His last words are slower, slightly unsure, and Arya suspects they’re not his own. It’s like he’s trying to come to terms with them, choosing to believe and trust in their truth.

“Good.” She swallows thickly, the next words flying out of her mouth before she can stop them. “Did Gendry seem okay?”

Theon grunts as he presses the keys on his controller a little too violently.

“I just told you he didn’t. He wasn’t his usual self,” he adds, mumbling. He goes eerily quiet for a moment before he straightens up, something clicking into place. Arya winces, already knowing what to expect. “Did something happen?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

Clearly, he didn’t, but Arya needs to buy some time to pull herself together if she’s going to have some semblance of a conversation about how she ended things with Gendry for no valid reason other than that for all her soliloquies about being strong and brave and independent, she’s also really fucking scared. All the fucking time.

Theon sighs. Whether it’s in defeat or in guilt, Arya can’t tell.

“He’s not exactly an open book,” he mutters. “He doesn’t talk about things unless I really push him. And I was in no state to push yesterday.”

“Nothing happened.” Her words catch in her throat, coming out a lot lower than less convincing than she intends. “It’s just that we came to an agreement.”

“On?”

“Whatever little experiment we started.” She tries to keep her tone indifferent as she speaks. “And that we should end it.”

Theon raises his eyebrows, dropping his controller to the side and completely giving up the pretence that he’s even remotely into the round they’re playing.

“Experiment?” he scoffs, less amused than he actually sounds. “Is that what those last couple of months were?”

Arya takes a deep, frustrated breath. She wants to say yes. Wants to dismiss it and make it into an insignificant thing that she can just easily move on from.

“No,” she admits. She can’t lie to Theon, no matter how much she wants to. “But whatever it was, it’s over now,” she adds, trying to save face.

“You can’t just run away every time things get difficult.”

She’s almost tempted to smile. Oh, how her words always come back to bite her in the ass. Judging by the look on Theon’s face, he’s fighting off a smug smile too.

“I’m not running away,” she settles on, deflecting. “I’m right here.”

Theon grunts again in a way that clearly says don’t insult my limited intelligence. “Arya,” he warns.

She hates it when she feels like she’s being scolded. It makes her all defensive.

“Look, Theon, you were worried I’d hurt him. This way I can’t hurt him,” she argues lamely.

“I hate it when you do that,” Theon mutters, frustration colouring his features.

“Do what?”

“Pretend you’re dumb when you’re not,” he accuses. “Pretend you’re making yourself miserable for the greater good,” he adds.

“I’m not miserable,” she retorts immediately.

She suspects the defensive edge to her voice and the way she scowls as she utters the words prove Theon’s point more than she wants.

He remains quiet for a few moments before he takes a deep breath, grabbing the controller again but making no move to play.

“Look, I’m not gonna push,” he promises, his voice low, words a little clumsy on his tongue. “I have no moral high ground here. I’ve done worse, much worse.” His eyes lift to hers, and he doesn’t continue speaking until she meets them. “I’ve also been through worse. Life fucking sucks, Arya.” She snorts under her breath, a humourless smile on her lips. “But it would suck a fuck lot more if I didn’t have your sister.” His last words catch her a little off-guard, hitting a little too close to home. “You don’t have to bloody go through it alone.”

“I’m not alone,” she says, though she knows it comes out weak and low. It’s also a lie. “I have my sister too,” she deflects again.

Theon groans, turning his eyes away from her to look at the television as he starts up another round.

“You can be such a bloody pain, sometimes.”

“And you love me for it.”

For once, Theon doesn’t argue. His eyes meet hers instead, barely nodding at her. It’s as close as he’ll come to admitting it.

Because he’s Theon though, he has to get the last word.

“So does he. Don’t punish him for it.”

* * *

Arya is in her bed staring at the ceiling, her head cluttered with thoughts when Sansa slips into her room.

She smiles when she sees her sister, straightening up and tapping the mattress next to her gently. She doesn’t dwell on the lump that forms in her throat when she realizes she’s already on the right side of the bed, kind of used to always having someone on the other side these days.

Sansa crawls into bed with her, leaning back against her headboard. She looks tired up close, face pale and the bruises under her eyes more prominent.

“How’re you feeling?”

Sansa sighs in relief.

“Like the worst of it is over,” she tells her truthfully.

“I gave him an earful when he got home,” Arya admits. “I didn’t want to. I wanted to be more considerate and tell him how relieved I actually was that he came back, but I don’t think I did a very good job of it.”

“You did,” Sansa reassures her quickly.

“I was just so worried,” Arya defends anyway. “I didn’t know what to do, I know you told me it got bad sometimes but I’d never seen it for myself. At least not since I left Winterfell, and I guess I just kind of forgot how steep things could get when he was triggered.” Her hands fist into the sheets, a rush of anger coursing through her. “I fucking hate his dad so much.”

Sansa breathes deeply, reaching out for Arya’s hand.

“I know, me too,” Sansa agrees, voice strained. “He doesn’t get triggered as much anymore, though,” she adds. “Silver lining, I guess.”

“You were always better at seeing that than I ever was,” Arya mumbles. She turns to her sister. “Are you sure he’s not upset I yelled at him before?”

“He knows you were worried, Arya,” Sansa insists. “You lash out when you do, we all know that.”

It’s as offhanded as comments go, but it hits too close to home.

_I can’t be the one you go to when you want to feel good and then push away when things get a little bad._

She shakes her head to chase Gendry’s voice away from her thoughts.

“Are you sure you’re okay, though?” she asks, turning her attention to her sister. “I feel like you haven’t given yourself the time to process things.”

Sansa shrugs. “I can handle it,” she tells her matter-of-factly. “I’ve been through worse,” she reminds her she stares ahead of her, haunted by some memory Arya can’t see.

Arya reaches for her hand, squeezing her fingers. Sansa flinches for a brief second, eyes glassy when she turns to look at Arya.

“I wish I could’ve helped more,” Arya confesses.

Sansa lets out a delirious laugh, surprising Arya.

“You’re kidding, right?” She asks, disbelieving. “You dragged my ass to self-defence classes. You literally saved my life.”

“I did not,” Arya argues.

“You did,” Sansa insists. “And you did this time, too. Why do you think I carry around the pepper spray? How do you think I had the composure to even keep myself together long enough to pull it out without him noticing?”

“Because I might be a certified boxer and archer and all that, but you’re a certified badass,” she shrugs. “You know that, right?”

“I do,” Sansa tells her with false arrogance, “but it’s always good to be reminded.”

Arya laughs, letting go of her sister’s hand and settling back. When Sansa doesn’t make to leave, her forehead creases.

“Not that I don’t love you, but your boyfriend just came back from a weeklong walkabout, so why are you in my bed instead of his?”

Sansa’s features twist in a slightly guilty look. “Because said boyfriend told me you might need me more than he does tonight,” she confesses.

Arya’s eyes narrow. Of fucking course.

“He told you?” She guesses.

Sansa shakes her head. “He actually didn’t tell me anything other than that I should talk to you,” she muses and Arya wants to punch herself because she basically gave herself away. “But now I know something’s wrong, so spill,” Sansa demands, proving her point.

Arya sighs. “Gendry and I had a fight.”

“Okay…” Sansa mutters, eyebrows crashing together. “And?”

Arya shrugs. “And nothing,” she replies, trying to keep her tone casual. “We had a fight and now things are weird.”

“Fights happen,” Sansa offers. “Theon and I fight all the time, in case this week didn’t make that clear enough,” she rambles. “You both just need a minute to chill before you can make up and get back together.”

Arya’s forehead creases.

“Getting back together implies that we were together in the first place,” she says flatly.

Sansa’s face contorts into a genuinely confused expression.

“You weren’t?”

Now Arya’s getting confused. Why would her sister just assume that they were?

“I would’ve told you if we were,” Arya points out, not really sure how her sister got things so wrong.

Did everyone just assume they were together?

“You’re not a big talker,” Sansa states honestly. “And neither is Gendry, for that matter. So I just figured neither of you wanted to talk about it,” she explains. “’Figured you probably knew that once you started sticking your tongue down each other’s throats at every opportunity we’d get the picture on our own.”

Apparently they did.

Truthfully, this does sound like something she would do. And though it pains her to think about it because it reminds her of just how right they are for each other, she knows Gendry goes about things the same way.

“Well we weren’t together,” she mumbles.

“But you want to be?” Sansa ventures a guess.

“No,” Arya says immediately. “I broke it off,” she states blankly.

Sansa groans, rolling her eyes. “Arya.”

“Sansa.” Arya echoes with the same exasperated tone her sister said her name. “Leave it alone. He’s better off without me,” she mutters.

“No, he’s bloody not,” Sansa argues immediately, her frustration bubbling through and her mouth twisting in a frown. “And you’re not better off without him either,” she adds. She pauses, running a hand over her face as she angles her body towards her sister. “Look, Arya, I don’t know everything that happened to you in Braavos. You’ve told me some of it and I know that the crap we went through when we were young already left us fifty shades of fucked up. But I know that isolating yourself doesn’t work. I know you’re trying to protect yourself and your heart.”

“If I don’t get involved, it’s one less person to care about. One less person to worry about.”

Her logic’s flawed, she knows that, but it is what it is.

Sansa snorts loudly. “That is some next-level bullshit, sis,” she tells her bluntly. Arya’s ready to be offended but Sansa calls her out before she can react. “What I understand from this is that if something were to happen to Gendry right now, you’d be fine with it because you pushed him away? Like you miraculously don’t give a shit anymore?”

Arya groans. “Don’t put it like that.”

“Like what?” Sansa retorts, voice rising with disbelief. “Like it fucking is?”

“Of course I’d be upset,” Arya argues, “but at least I wouldn’t be the one fucking things up for him!”

“You kind of are, though,” Sansa shoots back immediately. “And you’re fucking things up for yourself along the way,” she adds. She takes a deep breath, calming herself. “Look,” she continues, gentler now, “you’re my sister and I love you so I will support you no matter how many dumb decisions you make. And I will be there for you and I will never let you go through things alone again or let you fall out of touch like you did when you left Winterfell,” she promises. “But this whole suffering in silence and running away from things because you’re scared they’re too good is stupid. You don’t deserve this, and neither does Gendry.”

“He deserves good things,” Arya whispers, not even stopping to think about it because she knows it’s true.

Sansa nods. “He does,” she agrees. “And so do you.”

This is where things get tricky. So she deflects.

“Sansa, I don’t want to talk about this now,” Arya pleads. “I just really want to sleep.”

Her sister sighs, but nods her head in understanding.

“Okay,” she relents. “But before I go,” she says with some hesitance, “I want you to go somewhere with me this week. And you’re not going to freak out when I tell you where. Think of it as me repaying you the favour for those self-defence classes.”

Arya frowns. “Okay…” she trails off, holding her breath. “Where?”

“Don’t get defensive,” Sansa prefaces, “but I want you to see my therapist.” She holds up a placating hand before rambling quickly. “I know you’re going to argue because you think you can do things on your own and that you don’t need help and that you’re strong and—“

“Okay.”

“Capable of dealing with your own shit—“ Sansa halts, eyebrows crashing together again. “Wait, what?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Arya admits. “I know it helped you and Theon and Jon. It can’t hurt to try. So okay.”

Sansa still looks a little disoriented as she gets out of bed, like she’s not sure what just happened.

“Alright,” she says. “Good.” She pauses, still looking a little dazed. “Good night, Arya.”

She starts to walk towards the door when Arya feels an unexpected pain in her chest.

“Wait, Sansa.”

Sansa turns to look at her again, sending her a quizzical look. “Yes?”

She swallows thickly. “Can you stay with me tonight?”

Sansa’s entire face melts into the softest of looks before she nods wordlessly, climbing into bed again. Arya turns on her side and Sansa positions herself behind her, slipping her arms around her sister and holding her close.

They’re only ever done this once before, the night their mum died. Back then, Arya didn’t have the strength to ask for Sansa to stay with her. They weren’t close at all and Arya never asked for help, but Sansa had slipped into her room wordlessly, wrapping her arms around her and humming lightly until they both fell asleep.

As if remembering the same thing, Sansa starts humming a tune behind her.

Arya listens for a moment before she frowns.

“Are you lulling me to sleep with Hollaback Girl?”

Sansa huffs. “It’s literally the only song that came to mind.”

Arya barks a laugh loud enough to wake everyone in their building.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not like Arya can’t live without Gendry. She can, and she does.
> 
> It’s just that being without him kind of really fucking sucks.

It’s not like Arya can’t live without Gendry. She can, and she does.

It’s just that being without him kind of really fucking sucks.

She goes to her classes in the morning and down to the pub when she has shifts. She spends time with Sansa and Meera and Missandei and Jon and goes to therapy and makes fun of Robb and spends her Saturdays eating too many cheese rolls at Hot Pie’s.

And even though Gendry doesn’t spend as much time with her as they used to, he’s still a perennial presence in her life, nerding out with Jon and laughing at Theon’s jokes and humouring Sansa’s daily whims, and for the most part he seems fine.

Because she is who she is, though, Arya can only focus on the way things change between them.

He never goes to the pub alone anymore, and when he does show up he lingers at Brienne and Jaime’s regular corner table instead of joining whoever’s at the bar like he used to.

She bumps into him in the elevator when she’s running late for a private boxing session one morning, but instead of the open smile he reserved for her on the rare occasion they accidentally bumped into each other – because they were together so often that accidental meetings were few and far in between – his eyebrows push together, a crease appearing between his eyes when he sees her. She freezes for too long before she walks in, politely greeting the two neighbours in the elevator and sending Gendry a tentative smile, one that he barely returns, burying his head into his phone again. He only whispers a quick “see you” when they reach the ground floor, rushing out of the elevator.

He skips movie night for two weeks straight, but he joins them for Robb’s birthday. He sits on the other side of the table and spends much of the night with Shireen and Rickon.

She misses him.

* * *

Here’s the worst part. He’s still _there_ for her.

She gets wasted on a night out with Yara and Dany and calls Jon to pick her up because she doesn’t drive when she’s drunk anymore and she forgets that Uber exists. It’s Gendry who shows up not 20 minutes later in Renly’s borrowed car. “Jon’s on the other side of town with Ygritte and Tormund,” he shrugs like it’s not a big deal when Arya raises a pair of thick, confused eyebrows at him.

On the anniversary of her mother’s death, her brothers show up at the apartment she shares with Sansa and Theon for game night. It’s a tradition their father started the year after her mum passed because Catelyn absolutely loved when all her children were miraculously home at the same time and they could do this. Shireen is there too and so are Meera and Jojen and so is Gendry. He sits between Jon and Theon on the floor but he still asks to team up with her and Robb when they play that weird card game Jon likes so much. And he’s right next to her when they FaceTime with her dad, laughing openly and nodding along when Theon reassures Ned that his children are all still as weirdly competitive as they’ve always been.

* * *

“Go on, then.”

Sansa chews on her bottom lip, looking a little too thoughtful. “I’m definitely gonna need another shot for this.”

Arya giggles as she pours some tequila into Sansa’s empty shot glass before downing her own in one swift motion and pouring herself a second one.

They’re sitting on the balcony of their apartment, enjoying the roommates/sisters version of a girls’ night. They’re not really alone, Theon, Jon and Robb in various degrees of drunk in their living room, but they’ve left them alone for the better part of the past hour so Sansa and Arya have taken the opportunity to throw their own mini two-people-party.

Sansa’s eyes light up mischievously, her cheeks flushed as she catches a drop of spilled tequila off the rim before sucking the liquid off her finger. She knocks back the alcohol before she pushes her chair back and stands up.

Arya looks at her in amusement, leaning back into her chair and watching as Sansa straightens up, her features sobering up in a look of stern concentration.

Sansa takes a deep, long breath before she pushes herself onto the tips of her toes slowly, angling her feet perfectly until she’s perched completely on the edge of her toes, pulling a pretty spectacular pointe. She manages to maintain her balance for a few seconds before she nearly tips over, laughing as she holds onto the chair in front of her to keep from falling over completely.

Arya cheers and claps loudly, not even trying to mask how impressed she is.

“Seven fucking hells, Sansa!” She blurts out, gaping with awe as she takes a drag from her cigarette. “I barely remember what our dance teacher even looked like, meanwhile you’re here pulling off a perfect move eight years later.”

Sansa bows exaggeratedly, pushing her hair out of her face.

“It’s literally the only party trick I have,” she muses.

Before Arya can call her out on her bullshit, someone beats her to it from inside the house.

“No, it’s not.”

The girls both turn their heads at the same time to find Theon watching them through the open balcony door, cheeks flushed and grin wide as he wags his eyebrows suggestively at Sansa.

Sansa barks a laugh as Arya snorts, rolling her eyes before Theon redirects his attention to whatever conversation Robb and Jon are having in the living room.

Sansa settles back and reaches for Arya’s cigarette, nodding gratefully when Arya refills her shot glass. Her sister’s not exactly a smoker, but she’ll indulge herself with a puff every once in a while.

Arya’s gaze lands on the sparkling sapphire and gold band around Sansa’s finger.

“Can’t believe you’re fucking engaged,” she ponders, motioning at her sister’s ring.

Sansa smiles fondly as she delicately twists the band around her finger. Her features sober up after a moment. “It’s kind of surreal,” she admits.

“How so?”

“I just didn’t think I’d ever want this again,” she explains. “And I was absolutely convinced Theon would never want this in a million years, so I just stopped considering marriage as a possibility.”

“But you want this now?” Arya asks because she wants to make sure.

She knows Sansa wouldn’t let herself be pressured into anything, not that Theon would ever do that in the first place, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.

“It’s easy to want it with him,” Sansa says honestly. “It doesn’t feel like a chore or an expectation.”

Arya is so happy for Sansa, she really is. Which is why the way he stomach twists uncomfortably and the dull ache that suddenly starts ricocheting through her body startle her.

She blinks a few times, trying to ignore the discomfort. “And how is he holding up?”

Sansa looks up at her as she shrugs. She takes another long drag from her cigarette before she speaks.

“He’s getting there.” She pauses for a moment, scratching her neck absently. “Some days are more difficult than others. The past keeps catching up to him. To us both, actually.”

“Don’t I fucking know it,” Arya mutters, reaching for the cigarette. “But?”

Sansa shrugs again before she takes a sip from the beer she and Arya are also sharing.

“But I’d rather be with him, even if it’s harder. I think we both deserve to be happy and we make each other happy. It’s that simple.”

Arya mulls over her sister’s words, Gendry’s face suddenly flashing in the back of her mind.

“Sans,” Theon calls out, snapping Arya out of her wandering thoughts. He pops his head out the doorway. “Gendry just texted. He’s not coming.”

Arya’s ears perk up.

“I thought they were coming down here because she’s supposed to be staying over at his place tonight?” Sansa asks.

Arya has no idea what they’re talking about, but her ears start buzzing at the mention of a “she” staying over at Gendry’s place. Her heart squeezes painfully in her chest, the frown on her face a perfection reflection of her suddenly sour mood.

“She is,” Theon confirms, throwing a quick glance Arya’s way. “But apparently he’s not really in the mood to join tonight.”

“Okay, that’s fa—“

“She?” Arya interrupts harshly before Sansa can say anything else. “Who’re you talking about?” She demands, voice catching in her throat. She has absolutely no right to demand these kinds of answers, some part of her knows. And yet. “Who’s staying over at Gendry’s?”

“Oh. His—“

“Friend,” Sansa speaks up, silencing Theon. Arya’s brow furrows deeper as she looks at the ground. If she isn’t so busy glaring at the tiles like they’re her worst enemy while she mentally berates herself for being a complete wanker, she would notice the questioning look that Theon throws Sansa’s way and the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it headshake her sister gives him in return. Sansa clears her throat casually. “Well, not friend, exactly. It’s this girl he met a few weeks ago at Grey’s gig, the one you couldn’t go to because you were working. They’ve been hanging out. Gendry says it’s going okay,” she shrugs.

Arya feels the bile rise up her throat.

It’s funny because _she_ ended whatever they started because she thought she’d be better off on her own.

But in this very moment, the only thoughts running through her mind are that she made a huge bloody mistake, that she’s _not_ better off without Gendry and that she’s the one who’s supposed to be staying over at his place right fucking now, not some random girl he met at Grey’s gig.

She’s also mad at Grey, like it’s his fault Gendry met someone at his show. It’s as irrational as thought come. The simple truth is that Gendry has a right to move on with whomever he wants, and poor Grey has absolutely nothing to do with that.

Right. Gendry has a right to move on, she reminds herself.

But she’ll be damned if she doesn’t fucking tell him the truth first.

She stands up abruptly, knocking back her shot before she hands Sansa her cigarette again and power walks inside the house.

“Oi!” She hears Robb yell from the living room as she dashes past him and Jon and towards the front door. “Where’s the bloody fire?”

She barely makes out Sansa’s “Gendry’s flat!” before the door shuts behind her.

* * *

She’s perfectly aware that she’s knocking on his door like a mad person. Whatever, she needs to tell him right fucking now because otherwise it’ll be too late.

And though this is all stupid and crazy and terrifying, the thought of actually properly losing Gendry because she’s too afraid to give into the most real thing she’s ever felt is even more terrifying and even more stupid. Not to mention, it stands against everything she believes in and everything she tries to be and—

The door opens, effectively interrupting her internal spiral and snapping her attention.

Gendry looks highly confused when his eyes land on her. He probably has a few questions for her that potentially include several WTFs, but she doesn’t give him the chance to speak, wasting no time before storming into his apartment.

He closes the door behind her before he slowly turns to look at her, eyebrows nearly disappearing in his hairline.

His eyes are really blue and she fucking missed him more than she thought possible and wow, she looks like a fucking mess, she realizes. Her hair’s loose and unkempt around her shoulders and she’s wearing an oversized, shredded band shirt and not much else. In her defence, the shirt falls well past her thighs and she’s always been a big fan of the band-shirt-striped-socks aesthetic.

Gendry looks her up and down and she think he might be a fan of the look too before she realizes she can feel cold tiles beneath her feet.

 _Oh. Shit_.

In her haste to come up here and do whatever she’s about to do – what the fuck _is she_ about to do? - she forgot to put shoes on, so her socked feet are otherwise bare. That’s what Gendry’s staring at.

Whatever, the building’s hallways are carpeted and she’ll throw her socks in the laundry basket before she goes to bed.

“What happened to your shoes?” Gendry manages eventually, his face growing more confused.

Arya huffs in annoyance because that’s not what he’s supposed to focus on, lingering in front of him for a moment before she closes the distance between them, reaching up and pressing her mouth to his.

She has every attention of keeping this kiss short and to the point, but Gendry apparently has other ideas, immediately melting into her, arms coming up to wrap around her waist as he sucks on her lower lip. And seven fucking hells, she’s missed this so much, to the point where she might actually start moaning into his mouth just from being kissed. But before she can embarrass herself in that particular way, she hears a commotion coming from somewhere else around the house and she remembers exactly what pushed her to come up here in the first place. She pulls away abruptly, leaving Gendry with dazed look on his face, lips puckered and hands hanging awkwardly in the air.

She’s almost tempted to laugh at his stunned look but she’s a woman on a mission and Gendry’s more-than-enthusiastic-response to her kiss has just given her a new clarity. So she turns her back to him and makes her way to the living room.

She hopes to any gods who are watching her make a fool of herself right now that she finds the girl in the living room. Because really, she can’t think of anything more awkward than having to do this in Gendry’s room, with the girl in his bed.

Thankfully, she’s in the living room. Slumped a little too comfortably on the couch, the bitch.

Arya’s eyebrows raise but she internally berates herself for even thinking that. She doesn’t even know this girl and her feminist ass isn’t about to hate some girl just because she might be into the same dude Arya is into.

The girl straightens up when she finally notices her, eyebrows creasing in confusion. “Um, hello?”

Arya pulls herself together long enough to truly look at her.

 _She’s pretty,_ is the first thing that comes to mind. In a non-conventional way, maybe, but Arya knows that she herself is non-conventionally pretty, or at least that’s what Gendry thinks. She knows that because he let it slip once when he was very drunk and wasn’t filtering every thought he was having. Point is, the girl is non-conventionally pretty too so maybe Gendry does have a type after all.

The second thing she notices is that her eyes look familiar and that she really loves her undercut and her dark purple pixie and those combat boots she’s wearing. And wow, not to judge a book by its cover but she seems really fucking cool and Arya kind of really wants to be friends with this girl already. Except that she might be dating Gendry and Arya can’t see past that tiny detail right now.

“Hi,” she manages after a moment, fully aware that the alcohol in her system is very much in charge. But whatever, liquid courage is still courage and whatever she’s feeling right now is only a dramatic inflation of things that she very much feels already. “I don’t know you,” she states. Gendry walks into the room behind her and Arya turns her attention to him. He still looks like someone just smacked him on the back of the head with a very large hammer. “I don’t know her,” she repeats dumbly, “but I don’t think you want to be with her.” Gendry’s eyes widen alarmingly and Arya wonders if this is a good idea after all. But she’s already started making an idiot of herself so she might as well see this bloody thing through. She groans before she looks at the girl again. “Look, I’m sure you’re really nice.” She winces at how condescending she sounds. “You actually look really cool,” she admits more genuinely, “and your boots are a gift to humanity,” she trails off. She narrows her eyes, trying to make her point. “But I love him.” The girl’s eyebrows somehow lift higher. “I do. And I’m pretty sure he loves me back,” she chances. She doesn’t look at Gendry but when he doesn’t say anything, she takes it as a sign to continue. “And you don’t want to be with someone who’s pining over someone else. It’s really shitty.”

She thinks maybe she should laugh or smile to dial down the drama but she can’t do anything but wince, low-key panicking and high-key panting.

For a moment, no one speaks. The girl stares at Arya, eyebrows nearly non-existent now. Arya keeps her eyes trained on her too, not willing to look at Gendry yet. She’s not ready to see his reaction to what’s happening.

But then, something does happen. Only it’s the furthest thing from what she actually expects.

Instead of an argument breaking out or Gendry asking Arya to leave or the girl telling her they’re actually married or whatever else crap scenario her brain manages to come up within those silent fifteen seconds, the girl snorts very loudly and Gendry moves to stand next to her with a disturbingly amused look on his face.

“Arya,” he says her name slowly, like he’s talking to a child. Here she is, confessing her love for him and yet somehow he still manages to make her want to punch him, the condescending bastard. “This is Mya.” _Why is that name so familiar?_ “My sister.”

Arya wants to wipe those stupid little smirks off both their faces because they’re having a fucking laugh at her expense and it’s—Oh.

_Oh._

She scratches her head in confusion, perfectly aware that she probably looks like the human embodiment of that old lady trying to solve an impossible equation meme.

“But Sansa said…” she trails off in a low voice before she gasps, her eyes widen and her hands coming up to cup her mouth in a horrified realization. She is going to _kill_ Sansa. “I’m going to kill Sansa,” she states for good measure.

Gendry laughs, a giddy sort of chuckle that bubbles through, his eyes almost disappearing into his face with how wide he’s smiling.

“You’re stupid,” he tells her before he crosses the room in two strides and crashes their lips together. Arya melts into it for only a moment before she fists his shirt in her hands and pushes him away. She keeps her grip on him tight so he doesn’t get too far away as her brows push together again.

“I am going to kill Sansa,” she repeats.

“You’re right, Gen,” Mya speaks suddenly, catching their attention. They turn to look at her at the same time, still standing close together, Gendry’s hands on Arya’s waist as he creases his forehead in a silent question. “She’s an even bigger mess than you are. Congratulations, little brother, I didn’t think it was possible.”

Gendry laughs again. Arya frowns.

“I am going to _kill_ Sansa.”

* * *

She doesn’t kill Sansa.

But only because when she finally makes it back to her flat with Gendry and Mya in tow, her sister positively shrieks before she stands in front of Gendry, holding up one finger so close to his nose that he goes cross-eyed.

“You’re my best friend and I love you,” she tells him, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed. She must’ve had a few more shots while Arya was two floors up making love declarations and stupid grand gestures. “And I know Arya can throw a punch and shoot a bow and whatever else the fuck she can do to murder people that we know nothing about. But, if you ever hurt her, I _will_ use your balls as Christmas ornaments.”

Gendry nods before Sansa turns to Mya, throwing her arms vigorously around her and drunkenly yelling about how they’re sort of officially sisters now.

Arya snorts as she sways on the balls of her feet for a moment before she tips herself up to press a quick kiss to Gendry’s lips.

“What she said,” she murmurs before she runs over to the balcony to poor herself another shot.

Gendry walks into the living room, a slightly stunned look still on his face. Jon and Robb make their best efforts to glare at him in their drunken state, which is mildly hilarious to Arya because Robb looks more like he’s trying to hold a fart in while Jon is just laughing dumbly.

It’s Theon who takes pity on Gendry, meeting him halfway and clapping him on the back.

“I believe this is your official welcome to the family.”

* * *

She’s sandwiched between Jon and Robb on the couch a little later when she notices everyone around her dozing off.

She meets Gendry’s eyes and lifts one eyebrow. His features melt into a small smile before he nods, pushing himself off the floor and heading towards the balcony.

He plops down in one of the chairs outside, propping his legs up against the railing.

She grabs the second chair and places it across from him next to his legs, sitting down facing him and lifting her feet to rest on the edge of his chair.

The space is too tight and her feet slip a few times before Gendry grabs her ankles and props them up on his thighs.

She can’t help the lopsided smirk that takes over her face, feeling goose bumps on her legs when he rests his palm against her socked ankle.

She reaches for her pack, lighting up a cigarette and handing it to him before she lights up her own.

Her eyes don’t leave his face, watching him as he absently rubs her shin. He scratches the back of his neck after a moment, probably a little uncomfortable with the way she’s looking at him.

“What?”

She smiles, amused. “Let’s talk.”

His forehead creases. “About?”

“Us,” she states flatly. “This.”

“There’s an us now,” he muses like the little shithead he actually is. “What about us?”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Weren’t you the one who was upset that we never talked about what was happening before?”

“Yes,” he answers immediately, nodding as he blows out some smoke. “But I just don’t want you to feel like you have to talk about it right now.”

“But I do have to,” she argues, one of her hands coming up to play with a thread on the lining of his jeans. “My therapist says I shouldn’t keep running away from things or not talking about things that scare me and hoping they’ll just go away.”

Gendry frowns a little, hand absently squeezing her leg. He nods lightly.

“How’s that going, by the way?”

“Good,” Arya tells him. “Good. She’s helping me see some things. Overcome some others.”

He smiles lightly. “Good. That’s good.”

“Yep,” she agrees. Her lips curl up on one side. “Now stop deflecting,” she calls him out.

He smiles sheepishly. “Okay,” he mumbles. “One thing you should know first,” he adds after a moment. “It wasn’t just on you.”

“What wasn’t?”

He shrugs. “Us not talking about it.”

“But you tried to bring it up once,” she counters.

“And just sat there and happily changed the subject the moment you didn’t seem interested in talking.” He pauses, looking up at her. “And then never brought it up again.”

“Good.” She tries for her most casual tone. “Then we agree that you're the one who completely fucked things up the first time around,” she declares.

He gasps, trying to look insulted even as he laughs. “Dickhead!”

Her lips curl up, teeth bared in a wide grin.

“The not talking part was on both of us,” she concedes after a moment, features sobering up as she settles back into her chair. “The rest of it, mostly on me.” He looks like he’s about to argue again but she doesn’t give him the chance to. “Which is why we have to do better this time,” she continues. She takes a deep breath, trying to convey how much she means her next words. “I can’t lose you again.”

He leans forward, eyes soft and piercing when they look at her. “You never lost me,” he reassures.

She shakes her head.

“It’s not the same,” she insists. “I don’t want you around to give me a ride when I’m smashed.” She pauses, pouting lightly and thinking better on it. “Well, I do. But I want you to be right there with me when I’m getting smashed,” she amends.

He chuckles loudly, stretching his arm to put out the stub of his cigarette in the nearby ashtray. She hands him hers too, because he’s closer to the table, and he does the same with it.

He turns his attention back to her when he’s done. “So what’s the problem?”

She takes a deep breath, twisting one of her rings around her finger, trying to find the courage to stay honest. Putting herself in vulnerable positions like this was never her strong suit, but for Gendry, she’ll try.

“You already know I love you,” she confides in him. Aside from that half-assed confession she pulled at his flat earlier tonight, it’s the first time she’s ever said it out loud to anyone who isn’t her family. Though she supposes Gendry is already her family in all the ways that count. His face clears, a small smile colouring his lips as his fingers tighten around her ankle again. “But I’m built to run.”

He rolls his eyes.

“That’s dramatic,” he states flatly. “Even for you.”

“Okay fine,” she relents. She supposes she’s been hanging out with Robb a fair amount so maybe his extra-ness rubbed off on her a little. “But I _will_ fuck up.”

Gendry shrugs. “So will I.”

He seems to have an answer ready for everything. It’s both highly amusing and highly annoying.

“And I _will_ act like a brat sometimes and say things and do things that you won’t always like or agree with.”

He shrugs again. “So will I. And you already do that, by the way.”

She frowns. “And you’re just bloody okay with that?”

He sighs.

“Arya, if I wanted to be with someone who agrees with me on everything, I would’ve asked Margaery out.”

She raises her eyebrows, trying to ignore the bitter taste that the mere implication of him seeing someone else leaves in her mouth. She has to remind herself that he’s not telling her he wants to be with Margaery, but quite the opposite. That he doesn’t want someone like Margaery because he’s choosing Arya.

“You didn’t ask me out,” she counters.

He laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck again.

“Well…” he trails off, eyes dark and suggestive when they travel from her face to her chest to her legs and back up to her face. “We skipped a few steps,” he grants, “but it’s not like you can blame me with you looking like that.”

She can feel her cheeks flush even as her eyes light up, a wicked grin splitting her face in two.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she offers, wagging her eyebrows. His expression mirrors hers, smile wide on his face. She settles after a moment. “So we’re doing this, then?” She asks, a little hesitant.

“It’s up to you, m’lady.”

She creases her forehead, rather unimpressed with his antics.

“Call me that one more fucking time,” she dares him.

His lips curl up in a mischievous grin.

“And you’ll what?” He challenges. 

“I wanna say punch you but that face is too pretty to break,” she admits. Except that the smug look on his face and the way he cocks that eyebrow kind of really infuriate her. “Whatever, maybe I’ll do it anyway.” Her eyes light up with an idea. “Or better yet, I’ll let Nymeria take care of it.”

He snorts rather unattractively, which is saying a lot because she’s pretty sure there are very few things Gendry can do unattractively.

“Good luck with that. That girl _loves_ me,” he brags.

“That girl only loves whatever I love.”

His eyebrows shoot up as he bites the inside of his cheek in amusement. “And your point is?”

“Shut up,” she groans, closing her eyes and willing her cheeks not to blush.

She yelps when she feels her chair move abruptly. She opens her eyes to find herself nearly face to face with Gendry. His hand is wrapped tightly around the arm of her chair he’s using to pull her over to him, her legs nearly straddling his waist now with how close they are.

“I love you too,” he whispers as he leans forward until their noses are almost touching.

He pushes a strand of hair out of her face softly, trailing his thumb over her lower lip before he kisses her.

She smiles into the kiss, hating how cliché this all is, especially the part where she feels a literal weight being lifted off her fucking shoulders.

She grips his hoodie, wrapping one of the strings around her finger as Gendry noses her cheek. She sighs against him when he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her entirely off her chair and onto his lap before burying his face in her neck. She snakes her own arms around his neck tightly, hugging him as close to her as she can.

“I won’t run again,” she promises, voice muffled in his shoulder. “Or I’ll try not to.”

She feels him chuckle lightly, somehow managing to tighten his hold on her.

“Me neither.”


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you wanna back out now’s the time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check bottom for full-length A/N <3

“If you wanna back out now’s the time.”

Arya’s lips curl up at the familiar words, shooting Gendry a glare as she reaches up to ruffle his hair. He laughs as he squirms out of reach.

“I’m holding a gun in my hand, Arya!”

She rolls her eyes. “A _tattoo_ gun.” Gendry grins sheepishly. She can’t help but return the lopsided smile, a rush of affection coursing through her. It’s been a few months since she’d stormed into his apartment barefoot and on a mission, but it seems that no matter how long she and Gendry are together, she’ll never stop being a little bewildered by what she feels for him. “Not changing my mind,” she reassures.

The double entendre doesn’t slip her attention, nor does the way he nods almost imperceptibly.

“Okay.”

She removes her shirt and unclasps her bra swiftly. Gendry pauses for a moment, swallowing thickly and biting the inside of his cheek as she slips the bra down her arms, throwing it along with her shirt on the nearby chair.

He raises his eyebrows suggestively when she turns to look at him.

His hair is the right amount of dishevelled today, a few strands falling a little messily on his forehead, while that damn tattoo that started it all is peeking from under the collar of his shirt. Her shirt, actually. She should’ve figured that her love of oversized things would come back to bite her in the ass one day. Whatever, the plaid shirt she just took off is actually his, so an eye for an eye or whatever the fuck it is that people say.

She’s got to admit, though, he does look particularly shaggable today. Not that he doesn’t always look very shaggable to her.

She shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts because she loves him and definitely wouldn’t mind it if he put that tongue of his to good use and went down on her right now, but she’s really excited about getting the new tattoo and there’s definitely about a million health-related reasons why they shouldn’t be fucking in a tattoo parlour.

“Not the time or the place, Waters,” she warns even as she smiles.

“I know, I know,” he reassures, manoeuvring his chair until he’s sitting slightly behind her. He smacks his lips together. “You gotta make up your mind, though. You can’t call me Waters one day and Baratheon the other.”

She turns to look at him over her shoulder.

“If you wanna keep seeing these tits then I can call you whatever the bloody fuck I want,” she shoots back.

Gendry grins widely.

“Fair enough.” He presses a light kiss to her shoulder, sending a tingling sensation from the point where his lips skim her skin and down to her toes. She lies chest-down on the film-wrapped bed, the warmth soon dissipating when Gendry applies the disinfectant to the tattoo area. She can’t stop but shiver slightly when the soap and water hit her skin. She smiles when Gendry rubs her lower back absently, trying to warm her up. “If the pain gets too much to handle—“

“I’ll let you know,” she finishes, smiling as she peers up to look at him.

Gendry hums, smirking down at her before he leans forward and presses one more kiss to the corner of her lips. She hears the tell-tale whirring of the tattoo machine before his gloved hands disappear out of her line of vision and she feels her skin start to prickle.

“You’re my first official customer, then,” he ponders after a few minutes.

“You’re not even letting me pay,” she points out, rolling her eyes.

They’ve been pretty much arguing about it ever since he signed the official lease for his shop. Basically, Arya insisted that she wanted to be his first official paying customer and Gendry had agreed wholeheartedly, minus the paying part. No matter how many times she told him it was bad for business, he dismissed any and all arguments she had.

_What’s the point of having a boyfriend who owns a tattoo parlour if you’re going to pay for tattoos? Nope, not happening._

“Arya, we’re not having that stupid argument again—“

They hear a light tap on the door before they can really get into it. Gendry pulls back, brows furrowed.

“It’s me,” Rickon’s voice comes through the door.

Arya glances at Gendry over her shoulder.

“Don’t feel like scarring Rickon today with my boobs so any bits hanging?” she asks.

He looks her over quickly, calling out for Rickon to come in when he’s satisfied that he won’t be assaulted with anything beyond her bare back.

The boy pushes the door open and peers his head in the doorway.

“What’s up?” Gendry asks.

“How long do you think this’ll take?”

Gendry peers over at the sketchpad propped up next to him. He doesn’t even know what the fuck direwolves are, only that they’re extinct and that Arya insists Nymeria and Ghost are actually their descendants or cousins or something along those lines. Point is, she made him pore over research for hours until he could properly sketch the tattoo of the pack she had in mind.

“Don’t think we’ll be done before lunch,” he answers. “Could be a bit more. Why?”

“Got customers up front,” Rickon informs him with a small, proud smile. “They need a quote for a couple of tattoos. Wanted to check if I can book them for later today or if it’ll have to be tomorrow.”

Gendry’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his face frozen in stunned silence.

“Later today,” Arya replies when he doesn’t say anything.

Gendry turns to look at her, trying very hard to process what’s happening.

“Right, yes,” he agrees, clearing his throat but unable to keep the smile off his face. His gaze flits over to Rickon again. “Any time after 4.”

Rickon nods. “Got it.”

He walks back out and closes the door behind him.

Gendry turns back to Arya, an incredulous laugh bubbling out of him.

“You might not be a paying customer but you’re my good luck charm,” he muses before he turns the machine on again and leans forward to continue work on her tattoo.

Arya rolls her eyes.

“You’re a fucking good tattoo artist, dumbass, you don’t need a good luck charm. Besides, it’s Sansa you should thank. She’s basically managing your brand.”

“Right. And I will. I’ll buy her a pint tonight,” he promises. “But you’re still my good luck charm.”

_Stubborn idiot._

Arya smiles anyway.

* * *

“Honestly, I love your sister, but she can be hella extra sometimes.”

Arya snorts as she shoves some crackers into her mouth, peering over at Meera with an amused expression.

“Your boyfriend is Robb,” Arya points out flatly. “For like, two years now.”

Meera’s mouth quirks up, but she tries to hide her smile by taking a swig of her beer.

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything. And it hasn’t been two years.” Arya shoots her a look that says fuck off. “Still got a month before it’s two years,” Meera insists lamely.

Arya’s mouth twists in a lopsided smirk, enjoying the way her friend squirms.

“Whatever, my brother is literally the most extra person in our family, this city and probably the entire southern hemisphere. And you’re willingly attaching yourself to that. You have no room to judge.”

“Wanker,” Meera mutters, taking a rather violent puff from her cigarette. “All I’m saying is that Sansa’s throwing a housewarming party at the same apartment she’s had for, like, five years now,” she defends, leaning back against the railing and watching Sansa dance with Shireen in the living room.

“What can I say, she’s just very excited to finally have me out of here,” Arya shrugs, amused.

Meera clicks her tongue wickedly.

“So she and Theon can bone everywhere without you walking in on them?”

“Gods,” Arya winces, shuddering. “Don’t remind me. My eyes are still burning from the last time.”

Meera cackles as she blows out a sheet of smoke.

“How’s that going, by the way?” She asks curiously. “Not the walking in on your sister while she’s banging thing,” she adds quickly, making Arya huff out a laugh. “But the whole, you know, living with Gendry thing.”

Arya shrugs. “I mean, it’s only been, like, two weeks. But we haven’t killed each other yet.”

Truth is, the first morning was really weird.

When she woke up in Gendry’s bed that day, now her and Gendry’s bed, and realized she didn’t have to drop by her place to change or pick up fresh clothes before her boxing class because this was her place now, it felt surprisingly okay. Which, of course, made her freak out because she wasn’t freaking out enough. It was stupid, really, and she knew it, and it was only when Gendry stirred in his sleep next to her that she managed to get a handle on her emotions.

He’d turned to face her, throwing a heavy arm around her waist and pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder absently before his breathing evened out and he was deep in sleep again. It took her no time to relax after that, smiling as she carded her fingers through his hair and just sitting there thinking about how it felt like this was always where they were meant to end up.

Maybe Sansa was right after all. Of course, she would never tell her that.

“Small miracles,” Meera muses as she clinks her beer with Arya’s before drinking up again.

Jon, Robb and Gendry find them on the balcony just then, cigarettes already dangling from Jon and Gendry’s mouths as the former fishes a lighter out of his pocket.

Robb sits down on the empty chair, pulling Meera over to him. She perches herself in his lap before passing her cigarette to him.

“What’s going on there, then?” Arya asks, motioning towards the living room where she can see Shireen perched on Renly’s shoulders.

Gendry comes to stand next to her and she automatically leans into his side.

“Renly decided it was a great idea to form the tallest Baratheon in existence,” Jon shrugs.

“I escaped before anyone remembers I’m technically a Baratheon too and they try to shove me on top of Shireen’s shoulders,” Gendry mutters and Meera snorts loudly. Arya chuckles lightly at the mental image, pressing herself closer to Gendry. He leans down, her entire body shivering when his lips ghost the shell of her ear. “How soon before we can sneak back to our place and put the bed to good use?”

Arya’s heart skips a beat. _Our place._ Hearing him calling it that will never get old.

“I was thinking the shower, actually,” Arya mumbles, low and husky as she looks up at him from under her lashes. She hooks two fingers discreetly into his belt loop, pulling herself even closer to him. “It’s been a while since you’ve had me up against the wall...” she trails off, enjoying the way Gendry’s breathing shallows out.

He swallows thickly before he pulls away abruptly.

“Right,” he mutters, grabbing her beer out of her hand and placing it down on the nearby table along with his own. He puts out his cigarette brashly in the ashtray before he takes Arya’s hand in one of his own, knuckles white with how tight he’s holding her. “Jon,” he says, voice catching in his throat as he nods at the boy in question before turning his attention to the couple sitting down. “Meera, Robb,” he adds, nearly curtsying in front of them. “Always a pleasure.”

He doesn’t wait another second before he rushes past them and straight towards the front door, dragging a laughing Arya along with him.

“Where’re you going?” Jon yells after them.

“I believe this means he’s about to have his wicked way with her,” Meera singsongs amusedly, taking a sip from her beer.

Robb gasps in horror as Jon winces, closing his eyes and shaking his head profusely.

“You couldn’t have just said upstairs, could you?” he mutters in agony.

Meera takes another sip from her beer as she looks from Robb to Jon.

“And miss the masterpieces that are your faces right now? Not a chance in hell.”

Jon groans.

“Never bloody asking any questions ever again.”

* * *

Meera’s right. Gendry does have his wicked way with Arya. A favour she repays him twice over that night.

And when she wakes up hours later with Gendry half on top of her, face pressed against her naked shoulder and legs tangled together, she shoves him away slightly. He’s twice her size, the brute, he can’t be sleeping _on_ her if he wants her to keep breathing.

He grunts as he stirs next to her, turning onto his back, lips pouting and eyebrows furrowed even in his sleep. Arya can’t help but smile fondly.

_He’s still cute,_ she thinks.

She was never that big on spooning or cuddling, but it’s different with him so she links her fingers through his, manoeuvring his arm under her head so she can lie with her back to him and use his bicep as her very own pillow. She folds his arm until their entwined hands are pressed to her chest.

At some point, she will get too hot and shove him away again, or he will feel the blood stop flowing through his arm and will shake her off with all the subtlety a bull possesses.

But until then, she allows herself to press a soft kiss to his wrist, closing her eyes and drifting back to sleep with his hand against her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. 
> 
> I just wanna say thank you so so so so much to everyone's who's commented, kudo'ed, liked and reblogged and sent me replies and asks on tumblr. The response to this fic was unexpected and overwhelming in the best way possible.
> 
> A lot of you have asked me if I'll be writing more of this verse, but since I have no immediate plans/ideas, I'm going to take requests from you guys. So if there's a specific scene that you want to read from a different pov or a conversation that I alluded to but never developed or any other things you would like to read from this same verse, send me an ask on tumblr and I'll write it. I don't know how fast/slow it'll be because I have some other things in mind (and a few fics to read!) but I'll happily take your requests. My tumblr is bullheadedbastardblacksmith.tumblr.com.
> 
> Thank you guys so much! <3

**Author's Note:**

> I'm bullheadedbastardblacksmith on tumblr :)


End file.
